


You Were The First To Listen

by aesthetic_boy



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, M/M, check warnings in description before reading!!, patrick is smart, pete needs help with his math, the g/f isn’t the main focus but it’s referenced a lot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-14 12:37:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 31,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14769756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aesthetic_boy/pseuds/aesthetic_boy
Summary: Pete moves from a small village in Bible-belt Illinois to Naperville, a Chicago suburb. A fresh start from the chaos of the past two years.But he ends up meeting Patrick. Again. After almost five years- and a lot has changed.[Warnings: suicide (no major character death), self harm (at times graphic scenes), panic attacks, homophobia, description of violence]





	1. History Repeats Itself

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title: “Homesick At Space Camp”, Fall Out Boy  
> Another fic with the same characters (Gerard and Frank's story): [To All My Friends](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12402465/chapters/28220910)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! This is the second part of me writing out my main maladaptive daydream. It's... well, if you read TAMF and thought it was angsty, it's nothing compared to this. Enjoy :)  
> Title song: "Kicking and Screaming", All Time Low

**_Part 1- Before_ **

Pete was terrified and doing his best not to show it.

Today was his first day at Naperville Central High after moving across Illinois from a tiny Bible-belt town in the far south and he was standing next to his locker in the crowded hallway, looking for someone he could ask for directions from. Getting lost on his first day wasn't part of his plan. The strange combination of his wanting-to-talk-to-people extroversion and fear of messing up within the first five minutes left him looking around for someone who looked like they might not punch him if he said something wrong. Then he noticed the boy at the locker a few down from his. He was a little shorter than Pete and was hugging the stack of books in his arms to his chest instead of putting them in his bag. _Worth a shot._

"Hey, do you know where room 220 is? I'm new here," Pete added.

The boy glanced up at Pete and he couldn't help but notice how cute he was. Blue eyes behind thick-framed glasses and ginger-brown hair. From his clothing and the way he stood, shoulders hunched, Pete got the impression that he was trying his hardest to blend in. There was something telling him that he recognised this guy from somewhere- some distant memory.

"Is- is that your homeroom?" His voice was quiet.

"Yeah."

"It's mine as well, you can walk with me if you want…"

"Sure." Pete was relieved to have not been pushed away by the first person he talked to. They started to walk down the hall together. Pete felt like he was being constantly shoved by everyone, a feeling that he'd almost forgotten in his three months of online school. Nobody had yelled anything at him yet, though, which was something. "So, what's your name?" Pete asked, trying to distract himself from how self-conscious he felt.

"Patrick." Pete almost stopped walking. _It can't fucking be-_

"Did you- did you go to Harrisburg Elementary? Small town down the state?" Pete asked, mouth dry.

Patrick frowned. "Yes, but- _Pete_?" He looked about as surprised as Pete felt.

"Yeah…" Pete hesitated for a second before grinning. "Holy fuck."

Patrick gave him a small smile. "It's good to see you after almost five years." He stopped outside a classroom and pushed open the door. "Here." Pete followed him inside, waiting to see where Patrick sat before choosing the desk next to him. A few people were staring, but he knew that was to be expected as the new kid.

After watching the room for a few seconds, Pete turned back to Patrick. "How have things been?"

"Not much has changed, if I'm honest… I started playing guitar, after you kept telling me I should. A little bit of bass, as well."

"Fuck, how many instruments do you play now?"

Patrick shrugged. "I don't have drums or trumpet lessons anymore, so I can only practice drums in school and I have no time for trumpet. And I'm self-taught on guitar and bass, so it doesn’t really count. I still have piano lessons, though."

Pete decided against asking why he'd stopped drums and moved to another safe topic- "What classes are you taking?"

"All the required ones, German for my language elective and music and computer science."

"I'm doing music as well," Pete offered. "Can I see your schedule?"

Patrick nodded, before pushing up his glasses which had slipped down his nose. "He leaned down and took a laminated copy of his schedule from his bag and handed it over. Pete skimmed over it. "We have the same music and English classes- wait, you're taking AP calc?" Pete would have sworn that Patrick blushed. "Guess you're still good at math, then."

Patrick hesitated. "You know how I used to do textbook work in math because I finished everything? I did that all through middle school, too. So freshman year I was allowed to start in pre-calc."

"What are you gonna do next year, then?"

"I'm doing a dual credit class, I think. It's nice that we have two classes together." Patrick swiftly changed the subject. They talked for the rest of homeroom. Patrick was different to how Pete remembered him, which wasn't a surprise after how long it had been. But it was still weird, how much quieter and cautious Patrick seemed now. He guessed growing up did that to everyone.

When the bell rang for first period and Patrick told him, "See you in music," Pete tried to ignore the flutter in his stomach. _Fuck off._ He was not planning on doing that stupid thing where he ended up falling for the first person who was nice to him, especially not someone who had made everything a lot more complicated. Because he was sure that Patrick would be doing what he was, comparing his memories of Pete and how he was now. Sure, he hadn't been there when everything had gone wrong, but it meant that this wasn't as much of a clean start as Pete had hoped for.

 _I can live with this,_ Pete told himself as he walked to Health.

***

In music, they were set a practical exercise, so Pete joined a group with Patrick and one of his friends, Ryan. The work was easy enough, so they spent most of the time talking- about Pete's old school, music, Pete asking about the teachers. He hadn't realized that he'd missed this about public school. Being able to talk to people face-to-face and have actual friends.

"I missed music class," Pete commented without thinking.

"Your old school didn't offer it?" Ryan raised an eyebrow. _Shit._

"I did online school for a couple months- you know, while we were sorting out moving and stuff. So it was just music theory, no practical." It was mostly true and Ryan seemed to believe him, nodding before turning to Patrick to ask about the drums for their piece. Pete let himself relax a little- he hadn't realised how on edge he'd been for the entire conversation. Talking about the past without mentioning anything that had happened in it was more difficult than he'd anticipated.

The day passed in a blur- Pete had to get back into taking notes as the teacher spoke, working with the background classroom noise, writing down homework assignments so he didn't forget them. It was exhausting. He was enjoying it to some degree, though. It was better than not leaving the house all day, every day.

In art, his final class of the day, they were assigned a group project. Pete was told to work with Brendon and Gerard. He recognised Gerard from some of his earlier classes (and had no idea who Brendon was). They were sat together at the front, so when the teacher told them to move Pete stood up and walked over to the spare desk to the right of Gerard. "Hey."

"Hey, I'm Gerard, this is Brendon." Brendon nodded at Pete as he sat down. Brendon looked like a stereotypical popular guy- styled hair, clothes that weren't creased and an easy smile. In contrast, Gerard had jaw length black hair and was wearing all black. He kept pulling at the strings of his hoodie. "So, uh. Art," he offered, making Pete laugh.

"Yeah, that's the plan."

"For you maybe, I'm just here because I need class credits," Brendon replied. "Gerard's going off to art school and I'm trying not to drop out."

"I'm not great, but I can get by," Pete said. Gerard told him that he was probably better than he thought, and with that they started discussing what they were going to do for the project. They quickly discovered that they all had some shared tastes in music. Brendon hadn't struck Pete as a punk sort of a person.

"I'm sure we can fit this into the theme somehow," Gerard decided.

Pete frowned. "What the fuck even is the theme, anyway?"

"Love, apparently."

Brendon started laughing, "Yeah, Gerard-"

"Say one more fucking word and I'll slap you."

"What?" Pete leaned over his desk.

"His boyfriend gave him a hickey and I haven't stopped making fun of him all day," Brendon explained. Gerard didn't seem that embarrassed. It took Pete a few seconds to process the fact that Brendon had said _boyfriend_. He hadn't thought about the fact that there might be people who were out here. That every school wasn't as bad as his last.

"I'm assuming you don't have a problem with me being gay?" Gerard said at the end of class as everyone started to make their way out.

"No, I don't care about that sort of thing. It's fine."

Gerard nodded. "Okay. Cool.”


	2. But I'm No Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A slightly awful thing before stuff starts to get a bit...  
> Like with my other multi chapter fics, I've made a Spotify playlist of the chapter songs! It's [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/aestheticryan/playlist/4sjy1eF8tTzHyZLQugKwil)  
> Title song: "The (Shipped) Gold Standard", Fall Out Boy

"Did you understand any of that? Because I didn't. Fuck geometry," Pete complained. It was their lunch period now and, as he had for the past few days, walked with Ryan and Tyler to what was unofficially 'their' table. The cafeteria was noisy and full, as ever. Pete still found himself prepared to face a torrent of insults that never came. He had to remind himself that it _was_ different here, like he'd hoped. He wasn't the only one with dark clothes and bangs that were too long.

Tyler waved his hand. "Kind of got it, but not in a way I could explain. Sorry. Maybe you could ask Patrick, see if he remembers," he suggested. Ryan nodded in agreement.

"Ask me what?" Patrick said as he sat down with them. He was always a few minutes late to lunch from PE.

"Can you remember this?" Pete took out his notes and set them down on the table. Patrick leaned in to read them, his shoulder pressed into Pete's for a second as he pulled the notebook towards him. His eyes skimmed down the page and Pete felt conscious of how messy his handwriting was. Not even his mom could read it half the time. But Patrick nodded like it all made sense.

"I'm gonna fail this class." Pete slumped down on the table

Patrick hesitated, biting his lip. "It's a bit loud in here to try and explain it…"

Pete found himself saying, "You could come back to mine after school?" before realising that he probably sounded stupid.

Surprisingly, Patrick shrugged. "I have a lab report I need to finish tonight, but if you're fine for tomorrow I think I can."

"The homework isn't due in until Monday, so that's fine. Thanks, you're a lifesaver."

"It's no problem." Patrick smiled at him and Pete felt his stomach flip. <i> _Fuck off._ </i> Patrick turned away to retrieve a computer science textbook from his bag, set it down on the table and started flipping through the pages.

"Apart from this hatred of math, how are you finding it at this shithole?" Tyler asked, taking a bite out of his sandwich.

Pete shrugged. "It's not that awful, but it's only my fourth day. Can't really comment."

"I think there are worse schools," Patrick offered, glancing up. He'd started writing something on a sheet of paper, a textbook open next to him.

Tyler leaned over Patrick's shoulder. "Dude, it's called _home_ work. Procrastinate like the rest of us." Patrick mumbled something about wanting to stay on top of all his work.

Ryan shook his head. "Fuck, I wish I cared that much. I haven't done my social studies research for next period, not like anyone cares about that class." Pete agreed with him, offering his own homework for Ryan to copy, as he'd been set the same thing by his social studies teacher. As Ryan scrawled down a version of Pete's printed research down, they got into a debate about whether guitar or bass was the better instrument. As the other students around them were leaving to go somewhere else before class started, and Tyler was defending bass as the most important part of any band, Ryan asked, "Pete, how's your art project going?"

"Okay. Gerard and Brendon are both nice guys, we're getting on well."

Tyler made the executive decision to push back his chair and stand up and the rest of the group followed him to leave the cafeteria. From what Pete had gathered, Tyler was the one out of their small collection of outcasts who could be popular if he wanted- he played on the varsity basketball team. He stuck with them, though, rather than joining the other athletes. Which afforded them some protection from the arrogant jocks in senior year. "I'm assuming you know Gerard's gay, right?"

"Yeah. Where I used to live, there were a lot of homophobes, so I wasn't expecting to see other non-straight guys." It took Pete a second to notice the way Ryan and Tyler were looking at him. ' _Other'. Fuck._ He could feel the familiar sensation of being hot and cold all over, his stomach twisting. The one thing he'd promised himself he wouldn't do. He could have been normal. Talked about girls, ignored the other part of his sexuality until college. It had been bad enough that he was pretty sure he was catching feelings for Patrick. Now he was in the same position he'd been in two years ago. His body was freezing up.

Then Ryan broke the tension. "I swear, I have some sort of subconscious block around having straight friends. I don't do it on purpose, it just happens." He winced, like he'd said something he hadn't meant to, and mumbled something under his breath to Patrick. From reading his lips, Pete was pretty sure he'd made some form of an apology.

Pete blinked. "Wait, so you're-"

"Yeah, I'm gay. Big surprise, right?" Ryan said, his tone sarcastic. "Seriously, though, all my friends I'm still in touch with from my old middle school are all gay or bi- which is kinda ironic, 'cause it was a Catholic school. Then I moved across the city, get here…" He trailed off. Pete couldn't help but look at Patrick, who had tensed up, shoulders curled. If he had interpreted Ryan correctly, he had no straight friends. So that meant that Patrick-

"I'm going to music, I want to practice drums." Patrick was collecting up his textbook and loose sheets of paper. "See you in English," he added to Tyler and Pete.

"Does this mean we can talk about cute guys again?" Ryan asked.

"Yeah, that must have been a really painful four days for you." Tyler rolled his eyes. Ryan hit him on the arm. "He has, like, a massive crush on Brendon," Tyler added in a stage whisper.

"Fuck you, he's cute," Ryan protested. Pete laughed. Now he felt like he was floating. He'd spent so long before the semester had started worrying about how much he'd have to hide from any friends he made. This was one less thing, at any rate.


	3. A Quiet Evening Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The angst is going to properly start soon, I promise... but for now, have this.  
> Title song: "crushcrushcrush", Paramore

Friday afternoon came, and Pete was seated on his bedroom floor next to Patrick, his geometry notes a mess in front of them.

Pete opened his textbook. "This is what we got set," he told Patrick, indicating one of the exercises.

"Alright. Do you want me to talk you through it, then?"

"Yeah, okay." Pete bit back an automatic _sorry in advance for being an idiot._

The way Patrick explained the math involved with a sort of confidence Pete hadn't heard in his voice before seemed to make some sort of sense to him, more so than how his teacher explained it. It still wasn’t easy, the way it seemed to be for everyone else, but there seemed to be a bit of sense behind what was going on. "So you square root it and that’s it?" Patrick nodded, pushing away a strand of hair that had fallen in front of his eyes. They sat there for a while, Patrick encouraging Pete every time he got annoyed with whatever the fuck the numbers were doing. Pete definitely wasn't hyperaware of the fact that Patrick was a couple of inches away from him. In the end, he managed to get a handle on how to solve the problems and did the fifth question without Patrick’s help.

"Can you do the rest of these by yourself?" Patrick asked him.

"Probably, yeah. I think I get it now." Patrick moved to get up, so Pete caught his arm. "Stay for a bit?" he realised how clingy he sounded. This was why he didn't have friends. Patrick sat back down.

"My parents told me to get back by eight, so I can."

"We should get off the floor," Pete decided after a few moments' pause. He pushed himself up, swearing under his breath when he realised his left leg was dead. He sat on the edge of his bed. Patrick joined him, hugging himself round the middle. "What sort of movies do you like?" Upon learning that Patrick didn't watch movies, Pete informed him that he needed to 'get educated' and started his laptop. Patrick moved so he could see the screen, which meant that his thigh was pressed against Pete's. Not like Pete was complaining.

"What are we watching?"

"Juno. It's a classic." Patrick didn't argue, so Pete started the movie.

As they watched, Pete thought about how close Patrick was to him. He wanted to do something, make some contact. He could get away with calling it a friend thing and he was so touch starved after months of not having any friends. It seemed impossible to resist. So he moved his arm, wrapping it around Patrick's shoulders and pulling him closer. Patrick tensed up, and Pete immediately regretted his decision. But then Patrick relaxed, leaning into him and sighed a little. Pete's stomach flipped and he tried not to grin as much as he wanted to.

Around three-quarters of the way through the movie, Pete's mom came back from work. "Home!" she called. Pete shouted back that he was up in his room. He heard her walking up the stairs. Patrick pushed himself up a little but made no attempt to move Pete's arm from around him.

"Nice day?" she questioned Pete. He nodded. "This is Patrick, right? Pete mentioned you were coming over to do math." She raised a sceptical eyebrow.

"Yeah, we did that, so we're watching Juno now." His mom nodded and went to asking Patrick if he would stay for dinner. He ended up agreeing, speaking so quietly Pete was surprised she could hear him.

It wasn't until they were going down to dinner that Pete thought about the main issue with Patrick staying. He had to take his meds. _Fuck._ There was no way his mom would let him push his dose back by a few hours and anyway, he had to take them with food so he didn't feel nauseous. _I should have thought about this earlier_ , he told himself. It was too late now. As soon as he was in the kitchen, he took the bottle out of the cupboard, tipped out a pill and swallowed it with half the glass of water his mom had poured out. Patrick was watching him.

Over dinner, Pete's mom asked Patrick all the normal questions- about his electives, if he had college plans, that sort of thing. Patrick seemed to come out of his shell a little during the course of the conversation. In the end, Patrick agreed to come over every week to tutor Pete. When dinner was over, Pete offered to walk back home with Patrick, despite not knowing the area where he lived. He grabbed his jacket from the hook on his way out, Patrick following behind him after thanking Pete's mom for dinner. Pete could feel the tension in the air as they stepped out into the freezing January evening. It was dark, the only light coming from the insides of houses and the occasional street lamp.

"You can ask," he said, breaking the silence. _You could have pretended it didn't happen_ , he thought to himself. But Patrick was smart and had probably read the label on the bottle and it would just be a case of typing it into Google-

Patrick broke Pete's train of thought. "I don't know how to ask without being rude…" he mumbled, eyes on the sidewalk.

"Doesn't matter."

"Uh- what was it for? The medication? You don't have to say, obviously," he added.

Pete spent a few seconds staring at the bright lights of the street lamp on the corner of the block before answering. "You can't tell anyone. I wasn't gonna let anyone know, but if you're going to be coming here every week I guess you'd have found out eventually." Patrick nodded for him to go on. _This isn't the sort of thing you tell someone you've known less than a week_. Except he'd known Patrick before, and he didn't know how much was different but Pete could hope he was still a decent guy. It was a combination of that and the fact that he'd gotten himself past the point where he couldn't say that lead Pete to tell him, "I have bipolar disorder."

Patrick blinked. "Oh. Okay." They walked in silence for the rest of the block, Pete following Patrick around the corner, down a street he didn't know. "Did you think I'd freak out on you, or something?"

"It seems like a big thing to tell someone I haven't spoken to in, like, five years. A lot changed."

"Fair enough."

"You aren't freaking out on me?" Pete asked.

"No, I promise."

"Pinky promise?" Pete stopped walking and offered his hand out. Patrick laughed, shaking his head. A real laugh that made Pete feel all warm. He stifled it as soon as he'd started, ducking his head and covering his mouth. Pete realised that it was the first time he'd heard Patrick laugh all week. "C'mon."

"Fine." Patrick was still smiling. Pete reached out and linked their fingers together, feeling like a jolt of electricity had been shot up his arm when their skin touched. He remembered the last day of elementary school, this exact feeling- as Patrick took his yearbook back after Pete had written his name on the inside cover, smiling at him. And Pete had thought, _I really want to kiss him_ , not understanding why. Then the bell had rung and the hallway had been flooded with other kids, pushing past them. It was that again, except this time on an artificially-lit street, quiet and alone.

Pete pulled his hand away and they kept walking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd just like to add that bipolar disorder is the only main issue I'm writing about here that I have no experience with- I've been doing research for well over a year and it's not treated as that big of a deal. But if I ever do portray anything incorrectly, please tell me so I can fix it. I don't want anything to come across wrong.


	4. Not Being Lonely

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not posting last week, I had to take some time out from most things to try and improve my mental state. Not doing much better, but good enough to write this trash.  
> Title song: "She's American", The 1975

The next morning, Pete got a message from Gerard asking if he could come over in the afternoon to finish off the art project with him and Brendon. Pete was grateful for the distraction, otherwise he knew he'd spend the entire day analyzing every part of yesterday evening. Overthinking every touch and obsessing over Patrick's smile, his laugh, everything. It had been about a year since he'd crushed on anyone and he had no idea what he was doing.

He texted Gerard back to ask for his address.

It turned out that Gerard lived in the house across the street from him and had been wondering 'who the fuck had finally moved in opposite'. This was convenient, mainly because Pete didn't fancy getting up all morning and finished his math homework from the night before in his pajamas. In the end, he showered, dressed and left for Gerard's two minutes before he was meant to arrive.

Gerard answered the door. He was wearing a paint-splattered t-shirt and sweatpants, grinning. "Hey." Stepping aside so Pete could come inside, he added, "Mikey- my sibling I told you about- is home, so if they walk in and start taking about random shit it's like, normal behavior."

"Right." Pete followed Gerard to his living room. From what he had seen, Gerard's house was built the same as his, but it looked much more lived in- none of the boxes that still hadn't been unpacked or plain, bright-white walls that featured where Pete lived. Instead, there were photos of Gerard and his sibling through the years everywhere. Frank was in lots of them, Pete noticed. Brendon was sat on the couch, cross-legged.

"Ma's really into the whole 'documenting family life' thing," Gerard explained.

"Is that Frank in those?"

"Yeah, we've known each other since pre-school. Kinda wild that we ended up dating."

"Hi," Brendon interrupted the conversation, looking up. He was coloring in what looked like graph paper, each square a different color. "Gerard's idea," he explained. "I'm trusting him that it'll work." Pete nodded and sat down next to him, taking his sketchbook from his bag and starting to work on the drawing he'd started in class. Their plan was to do all of the foreground separately, then stick it down onto a huge painted background that Gerard had been working on, stood in the corner of the room. They worked in silence for a while, focusing on their respective tasks, until Gerard finished the layer he was painting and sat down.

"How was your math?" he asked Pete.

"Fine, I get it now." Pete looked up from his drawing to see Gerard and Brendon trying not to laugh. "What?"

"'Math'," Brendon muttered, making air quotes around the word with his fingers. "Sure."

Pete blinked. "You- fucking hell, that is literally all that happened." Gerard smirked.

"Sure."

"We're _friends_. I haven't even been here a week."

As Brendon was about to respond, the door opened. A person who Pete assumed was Gerard's sibling wandered into the room. They had blond hair that was messy, sticking up at all angles like they'd just woken up and thin, rectangular glasses. The way their eyes swept over Pete like they were examining him made him uneasy.

"This is Mikey," Gerard introduced them.

"Gerard, why are all of your friends emo, twinks or emo twinks?" Mikey was staring at Pete as he said it. Brendon choked on his water.

"Don't be rude."

"It's not rude, it's a fact. You're Pete, right?" Mikey asked. Pete nodded, still relatively stunned from their entrance. Mikey looked like they were about to say something, then turned around and walked out again.

"Weird kid. Love them." Gerard shook his head.

Pete hesitated before asking, "Are they- like-"

"Non-binary. They get a lot of shit for it at school, so don't try anything."

"Wasn't going to. Just where I'm from, it wasn't exactly LGBT friendly. I'm not used to all this."

Brendon hummed in agreement. "Know how you feel, my family is Mormon." He pulled a face. "Probably get thrown out if they found out…" he trailed off, staring at his drawings. Gerard patted his knee sympathetically. Brendon smiled, but it seemed forced. "Not like they will. I'm a great liar. Let's carry on with this." They continued to work as before, but Pete was fighting the repressed memories which were threatening to return. Memories of how everything had been in his old life. How he'd been treated for being who he was. Reminders of why he'd wanted to hide all of that here.

When he got back home, Pete collapsed on his bed. All the social exhaustion from the past week had finally hit him and he wanted to sleep for the rest of the day. He couldn't, though- he had an essay to write and had to take sleeping pills, anyway. He picked his laptop up from the floor and opened it, resigned to another hour of having to focus on something.

Half-way through, Pete gave himself a break and checked his phone. There wasn't much- post notifications from Instagram and Twitter- and a single text from Gerard.

Gerard: _sorry if i went too far earlier about you and patrick_

Pete: _it wasn’t too far it's fine but i don’t like him like that_

Gerard: _don't bullshit me you think he's cute_

Pete threw his phone to the end of his bed and stared at the ceiling for a few seconds before picking it back up.

Pete: _and_

Gerard: _knew it_

Pete: _if you tell him i will kill you_

Gerard: _i won't_

Pete swore under his breath. He hadn't been planning on telling anyone, not so soon. Hell, he hadn't been planning on telling anyone anything and now, less than a week in, all his friends knew he was bi, Patrick was aware of Pete's mental health and Gerard knew he liked Patrick. _But it's all gone fine_ , he told himself. _Stop panicking._ He breathed out, staring at his laptop, which had gone to sleep, the screen black.


	5. Don't Get The Wrong Idea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to more of this mess. There's going to be Something next chapter :))  
> Title song: "It's Hard To Say "I Do", When I Don't", Fall Out Boy

Almost three weeks later and Patrick was at Pete's house again. He'd been coming over every Friday to tutor Pete in math like they'd arranged. He always stayed for dinner, too, after admitting to Pete that he wouldn't have been eating with his parents if he was at home- they worked late most nights. He didn't seem bothered about it, and Pete understood- his mom was a lawyer and he was used to getting texts telling him to make his own dinner because she wouldn't be home for a few hours. She was always home for dinner on Fridays, though, so she could spend time with Pete. He appreciated that. Even with money from his mostly-absent father, he knew being a single parent was shitty.

Now he was staring at a page full of triangles with measurements and missing sides as Patrick talked him through it for what seemed like the millionth time. He couldn't seem to make it stick in his head, even when he felt like he understood it. "Sorry for being so fucking awful at this, it's probably annoying for you having to explain it again."

"You're not bad at this. Take your time," Patrick replied quietly.

"I was. I was in remedial for like, half of freshman year."

"That doesn't mean you still are." Patrick stopped speaking for a second before asking, "What was it like?"

"Awful. One time when we had a quiz, I got annoyed and threw it on the floor, said 'fuck this' and walked out the class."

Patrick laughed, hugging his knees to his chest. He laughed a lot more when they were alone. "Did you get in trouble?"

"Suspended for a day." Pete sighed. "My mom was so mad. She thinks it's funny now, but at the time…"

"I can imagine. My parents would have freaked out."

It was when Patrick said things like that which made Pete realise how little he knew about him. About his family or his personal life or what had happened since grade five. From what he could tell from talking to Ryan and Tyler, Patrick was a private person and there wasn't much more to it than that. Or that was what they seemed to think, anyway.

Patrick pulled the sleeves of his sweater over his hands. It was a habit he had, and one that Pete found stupidly endearing. Pete's thoughts jumped t what Patrick would look like wearing _his_ sweater, how it would be a little big on him, before pushing it away. "Let's carry on with this."

The work seemed to drag on forever, more than normal. He hated feeling so stupid, when Patrick had done this work three years ago. The fact that Patrick was modest about how smart he was and patient with him made him feel better- but also worse, in a way. He was relieved when he'd finished the work and could go and sit on his bed with Patrick and his laptop.

Pete liked how Patrick seemed to automatically lean into him now as he asked, "What are we watching this time?" The fact that they'd settled into some sort of a routine, Patrick helping Pete understand the work from the week, then staying so Pete could give him his 'movie education'. Pete spent every evening after Patrick had left trying to work out the distinction between 'two friends spending time together' and 'unofficially a date'.

When they'd settled on a movie- _The Breakfast Club_ \- Pete let his mind wander. He'd gotten over being mad at himself for liking Patrick at some point and now wanted to figure out what to do about it. As he saw it, his options were to ignore it until it went away, ask him out or keep at the attempts at low-level flirting that he had been. He knew it was rational to keep things moving slowly, but he didn't want to.

He wanted to take Patrick's hand. Find out if his palms were callused from playing guitar or if they were smooth. To push whatever this was a little further on from where they were. Pete wanted the reassurance that he might have found someone he didn't have to hide himself from every second. Reassurance that breaking the stupid promise he'd made himself over winter break that he'd ignore any attraction to guys was worth it.

So he did.

As Pete laced their fingers together, he could have sworn that Patrick flinched away. Pete felt the immediate guilt rise up in him. But as soon as it had happened Patrick was pressed against his side again like nothing had happened. He decided not to push it any further, though, keeping Patrick's hand in his. _Of course he might have been surprised_ , Pete thought. He was testing the boundaries of what could qualify as still being 'friends', if that was how they were both still seeing it. Most guys weren't like this with each other, Pete knew, though he'd complained enough about being touch-starved to Patrick over text that he'd dismiss it.

Patrick leaned his head on Pete's shoulder and Pete felt his stomach flip. He managed to restrain himself from looking over at Patrick for a few minutes before taking a glance. As usual, Patrick's face was emotionless, but he was biting his lip.  Pete was trying to work out some way of saying how cute he was without seeming weird when he heard the door slam downstairs. His mom was home.

He pulled his hand away from Patrick's. His mom had questioned Pete over how they acted together the second week Patrick had come over, assuming that they were dating because she'd seen them sitting together, personal space non-existent and Pete with his arm around Patrick's shoulders, for two weeks in a row. When Pete had told her that no, they weren't 'together', they were _friends_ , her response had been, "Well, he's the sort of boy I'd be happy with you bringing home."

As his mom called up to him and Patrick sat up a little straighter, Pete wondered what would happen if he kissed him. If Patrick would pull him in and smile at him afterwards. _That's not something you're going to test any time soon_.


	6. I'll Never Make It Right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It begins  
> Title song: "Fallingforyou", The 1975

Pete was counting down the time until the end of the school day. He was bored out of his mind- English was one of his best subjects, the only one he was enrolled in honours, and sometimes it was too easy to stop concentrating. Especially seeing as he'd covered this work last semester and still had his old notes. And there were easy distractions- whispering bad jokes to Gerard, who shared his sense of humour, or doodling in the margins of his notebook. Or Patrick. His favourite of his options.

As their English teacher rambled about the next essay she was going to set, Pete finally allowed himself a glance over at Patrick. Their eyes met. _Fuck._ He hadn't been counting on Patrick catching him. But then Patrick went red and turned away, averting his gaze to his desk. It took Pete a few seconds to realise that meant Patrick- Patrick had been looking at him? He couldn't think of any other way to explain it to himself. Probably didn't mean anything, though. He was overthinking things. As usual. When the class ended, Pete went to Art while Patrick went to Computer Science. He tried to push the embarrassment away, even though it still lingered at the back of his mind as he tried to draw the flowers they were meant to. His ended up looking like they were dead.

When school had finished, Pete met Patrick by his locker to go back to his house. Patrick was stood with his hands in his pockets, staring at the floor. Pete nudged him. "Hey."

Patrick jumped. "Oh, sorry."

"It's fine."

They walked back home, talking like usual. Something seemed off, though, and it took Pete a while to work out what it was. Patrick was always quiet, letting Pete take most of the conversation- but he seemed more so than normal now. And his body language seemed more defensive, too- like he was trying to keep at a distance from Pete. He assumed it was because of earlier. It had most likely seemed weird at best and creepy at worst. _Idiot. Shouldn't have let yourself stare._

When they reached his house, Patrick seemed to relax more, as they sat down on Pete's floor. He started re-explaining Pete through his notes from the week, which he had made himself in class and still didn't understand. Then they went through the homework together. Every time Patrick brushed against him, Pete lost focus, so he forced himself to think about something else. It had been freezing the past few days- it was mid-February now, but the weather seemed to have gotten colder. There had been ice on the windows all day at school- the heating had broken in part of the building and they'd still had to go in. Pete had stared at the patterns the frost made on the glass to distract himself from Patrick, so he didn't catch him staring again.

Patrick cleared his throat, bringing Pete back to reality. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, fine. Just thinking," Pete replied. It wasn't a lie. Patrick nodded. They sat in tense silence for a minute, neither of them willing to break it. Pete wanted to reach over to him but stopped himself. He shouldn't-

"Pete?" He turned to look at Patrick, who was only a few inches away. He wouldn't meet Pete's eyes, ducking his head as he asked, "Can I kiss you?"

That wasn’t what he'd expected.

Pete was feeling too many emotions at once to even name, his head spinning. After a month of thinking this was a hopeless crush, nothing more- Patrick was asking to kiss him. Which meant that he must feel the same.  He was trying to act more in control than he felt as he thought all of this. As he heard himself saying, "Yes." The word fell from his lips before he'd processed it because he didn’t care, this was what he wanted. Needed. He didn't want to just be imagining how it would feel to kiss Patrick any more.

Frozen, Patrick stared at him for a few seconds before leaning in and pressing their mouths together.

And it felt like every stupid cliché in one, the inaccurate overused romantic tropes that he hated. It was perfect in that one moment, half a second where every inch of him felt _alive_. As he slid his fingers under Patrick's jaw to pull him closer.

Maybe that was what did it.

Patrick pushed him away, scrambling back. His eyes were wide, breathing unsteady, shaking. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve like he was trying to remove every trace of Pete from him.

That hurt.

"Oh, God," he was saying, "oh, God." Patrick stood up. "I have to go." He sounded choked.

"Patrick-" Pete reached out to grab his hand or his arm, anything, but Patrick recoiled, shaking his head and turning away. Powerless, Pete watched him as he walked out of his bedroom, hearing him start to run down the stairs and out of the house.

It was the sound of the door slamming that brought Pete back to reality. His head felt crowded with all the questions he was asking himself.

What had he done? He couldn't imagine it being anything but his fault. _You always fuck everything up_. This was why he'd been planning on avoiding anything like this- it had been years since he'd had friends, let alone a relationship, so how would he know what to do? The obvious answer from this was that he didn't. He didn't know what it had been that had made Patrick run out like that, though. When he went back over the past few minutes, it seemed like it should all have been fine.

And it hurt. He hadn't felt like this in a while, the aching pain that spread from his chest and seemed to consume everything. Being disconnected from everything outside of his body- his room, the house, the street, the world- all faded away as Pete let himself feel the upset and anxiety and the anger. The anxiety was the worst. It hadn't been this bad in a while, not since he'd left his old school. It felt like it was wrapping around his throat, leaving him unable to breathe, to not even get the smallest amount of air. Choking him.

He lay down on his bed, going through the breathing exercises his therapist had taught him. The last thing he needed right now was to send himself spiralling.

It felt too quiet, the only noise from the occasional car driving down the block. Pete retrieved his phone from the floor and hit shuffle on his music library. _Fallingforyou, The 1975._ The exact opposite of what he needed right now, but he was too tired to change the song.

He rolled over, letting the music wash over him, calm him down. He was starting to settle his mind when his text tone went off and his heart was in his mouth again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this is a good time to mention this fic has a Spotify playlist: [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/aestheticryan/playlist/4sjy1eF8tTzHyZLQugKwil)


	7. Your Eyes Miss My Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be an explanation of sorts from Patrick soon- but for now have Pete being angsty  
> Title song: "Crybaby", Waterparks

It was Gerard. Of fucking course it was.

_hey asshole how's life_

Sighing, Pete put down his phone again. He couldn't deal with trying to have a normal conversation after all this. Not replying to someone was rude, sure, but so was kissing someone and then running off. _So I'm mad about this now?_ The more he thought about it, the more annoyed he felt. He hadn't gotten an explanation or even an apology. Just a look of disgust. And he hadn't done anything wrong, had he? So Patrick had no right to- to leave like that. No right to mess around with him like that. Shit like this wasn't meant to happen now, he'd done his time with having to face the worst in people.

But he more he ruminated over this idea, the more Pete began to see the faults in his anger. Patrick didn't seem like the sort of person who would purposely mess around with someone like that. He followed the rules, apologised whenever he thought he might have said something wrong. And he wasn't one of the worst in people. Maybe Pete was deluded by his crush- he couldn’t see any of the signs in Patrick that he was anything other than a sweet person. All his friends thought that of him as well. There had to be some reason he'd act out of character like this. What that reason was, however, Pete had no idea.

What he should do was call Patrick, he decided. There was no use thinking the same questions again and again when he could ask. _Take productive steps to ease your anxiety._ His therapist would be so fucking proud. If he told her about this situation. Which he wasn't planning on if he managed to fix it before Monday afternoon, when he next had a session.

He scrolled through his contacts to Patrick, fingers shaking as he pressed 'call'. There was a moment of anticipation as he waited for it to dial where he hoped he could work it all out.

Then the start of the generic answerphone message from the phone company. Fuck. He didn't bother leaving a message when the tone went. If Patrick wanted to avoid him, Pete would let him. It probably was his fault, then, Pete concluded. He'd done something wrong. He'd been sat here for half an hour and he'd ended up back where he started. Great.

His mom came home an hour later to find him sitting in the corner of his bed by himself, staring at his laptop screen. Distracting himself with Netflix was how Pete tried to solve problems he couldn't do anything about.

"Where's Patrick?" she asked.

"He had to leave early. Some family thing," Pete replied, refusing to meet her eyes. She'd be able to tell if he was lying whether he made an effort to or not.

His mom hesitated for a few seconds, hand on the doorframe. "Right. You can talk to me, you know that?"

"Yeah. I know. That's all it is, though. Nothing else."

She stared at him for a few seconds, raising her eyebrows to show exactly how much of a terrible liar he was, before nodding and walking off. Pete was tempted to call after her and explain what _had_ happened, but he didn't know how she'd react. Accepting his sexuality in theory was one thing- being okay with him acting on it was another. She hadn't freaked out as much as he'd thought she would when she found out the various things he'd done with guys last year- that hadn’t exactly been under normal circumstances, though. The reason she'd found out and the reason he'd done any of it in the first place. He didn't know how she'd treat this. Logically, it would be fine, seeing as she'd been tolerant of him doing much worse than having feelings for someone. But people didn't tend to be logical. He wasn't.

He stayed upstairs until dinner and watched documentaries about stupid topics until his mom called him down. He tried to act as normal as he could. Took his meds while she watched, then told his mom about his week and let her complain about one of her clients. The fact that Patrick wasn’t here threw him off. He hadn't noticed how grateful he'd been for having regular company until it wasn't there anymore. His mom seemed to have decided to give him space, letting him leave the table as soon as he'd finished eating. Pete ran upstairs, turning his phone on to see if he'd missed anything from Patrick.

Nothing. Except Gerard's text from hours ago, still unanswered. Pete spent a few minutes thinking over how to reply before thinking _fuck it_ and sending a message that read, _shitty, you?_

Gerard: _want to talk about it? vent at me_

This felt like more of a complicated choice than it should have. Gerard knew he was bi and that he liked Patrick. Therefore, he was the obvious person to tell about this. Pete ignored the part of himself that played back the events of two years ago, of what could happen from trusting people. Gerard wasn't like that. None of the people he'd gotten to know over the past month or so were. Being offered space to rant was a good thing. He took a breath before starting to type a summary of the evening. Which took a lot longer than expected. For an event which hadn't even lasted a minute, Pete found that he had a lot to say about it.

Once Pete had come to the end of his explanation, Gerard's response was simple: _well fuck_

Pete sighed. _basically how i feel about it_

Gerard: _i don’t know i mean he's the one that kissed you right??_

Pete: _yeah_

Gerard: _so it doesn’t make much sense_

Gerard: _you should talk to him about it_

Pete: _tried calling him, his phone's off_

Gerard: _give it time. you two are really close, you can sort it out_

Pete stared at his phone screen, watching it darken and shut off before he put it down.


	8. He's Scared

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Depending on how things go, this might be the last chapter for a few weeks because I'm going on holiday. Might be able to do another before we leave, though, we'll see how it ends up. If I don't- see you guys when I get back!  
> Title song: "Marigold", Nirvana

On Monday, Pete didn't see Patrick until homeroom. He was sat in his usual seat, shoulders hunched. When Pete went and sat beside him, he didn't acknowledge his presence in any way. He didn't seem any different to normal- Friday might not have happened, except for how he was ignoring Pete.

 _Fuck._ "Hey," Pete said.

Patrick glanced over. "Hi," he mumbled, turning back immediately. Pete had made up his mind earlier to not try and talk to Patrick about everything in school. From how Patrick was acting, he was glad he had. There was no way he could broach the subject when Patrick would prefer to act like he didn't exist. Pete sighed, staring at his desk. He'd never had to deal with anything like this before.

Patrick continued to keep his distance throughout the day, talking to Pete enough that Tyler and Ryan wouldn't realise anything had happened. But he didn't turn up for lunch, telling Tyler in English afterwards that he'd gone to practice drums. He did that every lunchtime that week. Nobody commented on it- Pete figured that it was something of a regular occurrence. "He gets really focused sometimes," Tyler told him on Thursday. "And all he'll do is practice. He doesn't have his own kit, so he can't do it anywhere else." Pete wondered if that had been the reason those times. Or if Patrick had done the same thing with other boys.

Throughout all this, Pete couldn't stop the fact that he still had feelings for Patrick. A part of him was holding onto the chance that it could be some misunderstanding. That Patrick _did_ like him like that. He hated himself for it- dealing with it by telling himself there was a possibility. When he'd brought it up to his therapist on Monday, after that first day of confusion, she'd told him he was doing the right thing by waiting to talk. "Why don't you see if he'll come over on Friday again and talk then?" she'd suggested. Now it was Thursday and Pete had been putting off asking him since then. Every day, he told himself he'd do it, to find no opportunity to. He was going to phone Patrick that evening if he couldn't today.

At the end of the day, Pete managed to catch Patrick at his locker before he left to get the bus. "Are you still coming over tomorrow?" _I sound so fucking_ needy.

"If you still want me to." He was looking at the floor like it was the most interesting thing he'd ever seen. "I haven't told my parents any different."

"Okay, that’s fine. I do still need your help, I haven't become less of a dumbass yet." Pete's weak attempt at humour was met by a flat 'I need to get my bus' as Patrick brushed past him.

The walk back to Pete's on Friday was tense at first. Patrick seemed to have given up ignoring Pete, at least for now, and they acted normal. On the surface.

Patrick sat with him on the floor and explained this set of homework to him. Pete couldn't focus and kept screwing up things he could have done. As ever, Patrick's patience with him proved to be infinite.

After he'd done enough for Patrick to decide he understood it, they sat in silence for a minute. Neither of them had the courage to speak until Pete forced himself to say, "We need to talk about last week."

"Do we?" Patrick seemed defensive.

The words came out sounding angrier than Pete wanted them to. "You kissed me and then ran off, of course we have to talk about it." Patrick flinched, fear showing in his eyes for a second, and Pete felt worse than he had before. "Sorry, I-"

"It's…" Patrick hesitated. "It was a mistake. It won't happen again. I'm sorry."

"Why was it a mistake?" Pete asked.

"I told myself that I'd never act on it. I can't-" his voice cracked. "It's the only way I can live with it."

Pete's stomach dropped. "What do you mean?"

"This… liking guys the way I do." He was whispering now. "I've been raised as a strict Christian. Every church we ever attended had the same message about it- that it's bad. I realised around the same time I realised I wasn't religious. So it felt like a punishment of sorts. I'm keeping to every rule church had set out, even if I don't believe in God. I don't want to be a disappointment. Not to myself or anyone else. It's for the best." Patrick seemed convinced of what he was saying- none of the uncertainty Pete had hoped for when he'd started speaking. There was nothing he could do, was there? Pete stared at him sat there, twisting his sweater sleeves over his hands. Waiting for Pete to say something, most likely.

"If that's what you want to do-" he tried not to let the hurt show in his voice- "I'll respect that. But you shouldn't try and repress it just to make other people happy."

Patrick shook his head. "It doesn't make me happy. Being this way. My friends only know because when Tyler came out, I didn't know what to say, so I told him. Then a few months after Ryan moved here, he put me on that group chat of all his friends from his old school- the one you're on now- and they asked me. I couldn't lie to that many people, so I…" His speech had been speeding up as he spoke. Now, he closed his eyes and took a breath. When he started talking again, it was in his usual, controlled way. "I wouldn't have told anyone, but I hate lying. They all think I'm okay with it and it's easier not to explain. I don't think they'd understand if I tried to."

Certain things from the last month were starting to make sense now. How Patrick had acted like he didn't notice Pete flirting with him. Each time he'd flinched away. Avoided the discussions his friends had about boys. He'd done all this subtly, making it so nobody would notice what it added up to unless they were looking for it. But now Pete was looking. He tried to ignore the disappointment from his unrealistic expectations to try and think of some way to make Patrick feel better.

Patrick sighed. "Can we forget this whole thing happened?" He sounded weak. Tired. What Pete wanted to do most in the world right then was to hold him, pull him close and stroke his hair. Tell him it would be okay. It would probably be the least helpful thing to do, considering the situation.

"Do you still wanna stay for the evening?" Pete asked instead.

Patrick nodded. "Of course."

The date had been playing on his mind all day, but now it felt even worse.

_Happy fucking Valentine's day._


	9. Trying To Kiss You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Only thing to say is that I changed the location from NJ to Naperville (a Chicago suburb) because I wanted to make it more accurate to how it was when I originally thought of it. If you're a new reader, I changed all references to it so it doesn't matter for you.  
> Title song: "Do I Wanna Know?", Arctic Monkeys

All week, he had to ignore the crushing pain every time he saw Patrick. There could have been something, in a better reality. That was what hurt more than if it had been plain rejection. They talked more than they had last week, despite the obvious tensions. For Pete, anyway. Patrick either didn't care or was even better at masking his emotions than Pete had thought.

There wasn’t any discussion about whether they were returning to usual with Pete's tutoring- Pete had assumed it was still happening. Patrick was waiting by his locker when school ended for the week and smiled when he saw him. That smile that made it feel like everything was worth it, even though that feeling was bittersweet now. How long did it take to get over someone? He hadn't had to in a while.

Patrick was more talkative than usual that afternoon, perhaps sensing Pete's anxiety and trying to compensate. Or because he felt bad. Did he feel bad?

Pete made a deliberate effort to not touch Patrick. No more flirting. Last week, when Patrick had stayed, there had been space between them for the first time. He'd felt Patrick leaning away from him. His mom had asked if Patrick was okay. Pete told her nothing had happened. He was keeping up what he'd told her the other week, that the only reason Patrick has left early then had been for a family thing. Maybe his mom would be able to offer some advice if he told her. Maybe not. He kept it to himself.

Pete faked understanding what Patrick was talking about with his homework, applying the steps with zero understanding of why they gave the right answer. Math was bullshit. He told Patrick that he _got it now_ after a few questions when he asked. He could copy Tyler's if he needed to.

As Pete collected his loose paper back together to put in his binder, Patrick mumbled something under his breath Pete didn't catch. "What?" he asked, not looking up.

"Can you kiss me?"

Pete froze.

His first thought was _what if this goes like last time?_

He couldn't shake that doubt as soon as it came into his head. Especially after what Patrick had told him, about how he'd never wanted to act on his feelings. Or what if he didn't even like Pete and only wanted an 'experience' with a guy, to satisfy any curiosity? It wouldn't be the first time Pete had gone through that. Theoretically, he wouldn't get himself into that again now he was stable, but he'd never had attraction thrown into the equation before.

At the very least, he wanted to know Patrick meant it. That Pete wouldn't be left alone or with the sinking feeling that he was being messed with.

Patrick misinterpreted his silence. "I shouldn't have asked." He swallowed. "You don't want- and that's fine. I get that."

"It's not that I don't want to. I do- I like you." It felt terrifying to say, even though Patrick had to be aware of it by this point. "But it feels like it's a compulsive decision from you again. I couldn't deal with it turning out like last time, you know?"

Pete watched Patrick as he twisted his hands together before saying, "I- I want to and I don't. I've never let myself think about it with anyone else."

"Give it time to think over it, okay? If you still want to next week, then I will. I don't want this to go wrong again, that's all."

Patrick nodded. "Okay." His tone was soft as he asked, "You like me?"

"Yeah." Patrick didn't so much as look at Pete as he said it. If anything, Patrick seemed to become more closed off. Pete wondered if he'd made things more complicated for him. After a few minutes of tense silence, Pete pulled his knees up to his chest and started picking at a loose thread in one of the rips. He couldn't remember if he'd bought them like that, if he'd done it himself at 2 am one time because it had seemed like the best idea he'd ever had or if it had been an accident. Not like it mattered.

He forced himself to stop. Patrick was watching him, biting his thumbnail.

Whatever Pete was meant to do in this situation to fix it, he wasn't aware of it. "Hug?" Pete offered. Patrick nodded.

Patrick felt small in his arms, the way he leaned into him and pressed his face into Pete's sweater. Resting his cheek on the top of Patrick's head, Pete wished he could stay in this moment. Not everything had been ruined. He wanted to stroke Patrick's hair or something but was conscious of the fine line he was walking. Patrick was the one to pull away, adjusting his glasses. Another nervous habit of his Pete found cute. _Stop it._ Just because there was a chance again didn't mean he should slip back into letting himself think like this.

Patrick left to go home straight after dinner. Since the first week, he'd walked back without Pete. Which was fair enough, seeing as there wasn't a point to Pete going with him, but whatever. It was still another thing that made Pete feel shittier.

He went upstairs and shut himself in his room. Put some music on the loudest volume he could get on his phone and focused on finishing the work he'd started with Patrick. The one good thing about finding it difficult was that his mind couldn't wander.

Afterwards, he threw his pen across the room- a small way of venting his frustrations- and checked his phone. A message from Gerard- _how are things?_

This time, Pete didn't consider his reply. _do i wanna know? by arctic monkeys on repeat for the past half hour_

Gerard understood what he was attempting to say. _shit with patrick again?_

Pete was grateful for having someone to talk to about all this. It seemed like such a mess in his head, typing it out for Gerard almost seemed like he was explaining it to himself as well.

Pete: _i know it was the smart choice but what if he doesn’t want to after that?_

Gerard: _you know this already but either way what you did was for the best_

Gerard: _like if he'd kissed you today + then run off you'd feel shitty_

Pete: _yeah i guess_

As much as Pete now felt like an idiot for getting worked up over one decision, Gerard's calm rationality was comforting. He had to hope that Patrick didn't change his mind.


	10. Where The City Is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A change of scene.  
> Title song: "The City", The 1975

Gerard had to end the conversation soon after that- he was at some party and needed to go and talk to people. Pete sat and stared at his wall for a good ten minutes, waiting for motivation to do some homework or message someone else. Or pick the Metallica poster up off the floor which had been sitting there for a week. Anything. He didn't do any of that in the end, instead getting up and going downstairs.

"Mom?" he asked, leaning round the doorway of the living room, where she was sitting on her laptop, the news playing on the TV in the background.

"That's me."

"Can I go out for a walk?"

His mom immediately looked up, concern in her eyes. "Pete-"

"It's nothing, I just- I need some space. Nothing's wrong, I swear." It took another few minutes of convincing her that he _really was fine_ and wanted to go out for the sake of it before she let him, with a promise that he'd be back by ten. As much as he loved his mom, Pete sometimes felt annoyed by her overprotectiveness. After some of the shit he'd put her through, he deserved it, and he appreciated her caring. But that didn't mean it wasn't a little much sometimes.

He wasn't sure where he was headed when he left the house. He still didn't know the neighbourhood that well beyond his route to school. That was part of the appeal of this- doing something unplanned and potentially unsafe. There'd always be that small part of him that craved compulsive decisions and bad ideas, even though they'd never turned out well before. Going out alone instead of doing homework? That was a good way of fulfilling that. Seeing as a load of his friends were either drunk or surrounded by drunk people, it wasn't the worst thing he could be doing.

There was a park a few minutes away from school he'd seen before. He'd go there.

It was freezing- he should have anticipated it, it was early March. He shoved his hands deeper into his jacket pocket. His breath was visible in the air in front of him.

The sky was dark except for the orange glow of the city. Perhaps he shouldn't have gone out this late. He was scared of walking anywhere by himself, especially at night. _Get over yourself._ Nothing was going to happen. _I'm okay. This is okay._ It was only 8 p.m., not even night yet. He stuck to the same route he took to school every day, not taking any chances. Focusing on the sound of his shoes hitting the sidewalk rather than listening to music.

The last time he'd been out this late must have been September. He didn't want to remember it, not now. At least most of it was a blur. Pete wondered if he'd ever tell any of his friends about it. Or if he'd let it be the one bit of his past he could do with what he'd been planning on doing with all of his old life- throw it away. Push it down, pretend it never happened. That was preferable, for now. His therapist kept trying to talk to him about it. He didn't want to.

Unlike last time, he felt aware. Grounded. Everything seemed real and just- _there_. Once he started thinking about this, rather than about September, some of his anxiety eased. It was moments like this- like being able to calm himself down- that were a nice illustration to him of how much better he was getting.

The gates to the park were still open. He was pretty sure it closed at midnight and he'd be out by then.

He found a bench next to the lake and sat down. Actually in the park, it wasn't as dark as he'd thought it would be- he hadn't noticed the lights along the paths when he'd walked by after school. The silhouettes of the trees cast long shadows across the grass.

He wondered what it would be like to be here with Patrick. The whole point of coming here had been to get away from thoughts of him, but he didn't want to. That was the thing. As bad as it was, he wanted to obsess over Patrick. Now he felt less bad about it, because there was a chance. Something could happen, depending on what Patrick decided. Pete sighed, hoping there wasn't anyone around to hear him. He hadn't felt like this about someone in years.

If Patrick was with him, though. Leaning into him to try and stay warm against the night air. Watching the shape of the reflections in the water. They could have come here a little earlier to watch the sunset. He liked it best when the low sun made it look like the sky was on fire. He had a ton of date ideas, despite the fact they weren't even _together_. Pete tried to hide it, but he was a stupid hopeless romantic. _Stupid me and stupid pretty boys fucking with my life._

He heard footsteps behind him and turned around. A guy and a girl, leaning on each other to stay up, giggling. They looked a few years older than him, college age. Early in the evening to be that drunk, but neither of them seemed to care. He could smell vodka. The guy noticed Pete first, grinning and offering a slurred 'hey'. Pete nodded, hoping they would go away. They did, stumbling off down the path with each other. At least they were enjoying life, or attempting to. Pete found his notebook and a pen in one of his pockets and wrote a detailed description of the couple, making up a story about their friend's rat-infested apartment that they'd come from. Trash, but a lot better than some of the stuff he'd written in here before. Half-finished poems and one or two chapters of a short story which always went off on a tangent or stopped dead. He'd given up on writing for a few months now. It would be nice to start again- he didn't have many talents.

And there was the added benefit of the fact that he'd forgotten about Patrick and the whole mess they were in the whole time he'd been writing. Distractions. That was his plan for the weekend.


	11. How It's Going To Be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My upload schedule is going to be even more dodgy than normal because I'm back at school and started my GCSEs so I have -1 time  
> Title song: "How It's Going To Be", Gerard Way

That week was surprisingly normal- there was a lack of the awkwardness that had followed them after the past few Fridays. Why that had changed now, Pete had no idea. He wasn't complaining, though. Having Patrick as at least a friend mattered to him. Patrick and Gerard were his two closest friends at this point. He didn’t speak to Gerard much in school, because the 'popular' crowd as a whole weren’t people Pete wanted to mix with, however much he liked Gerard and his friends.

So he spent his time with Patrick and his small group. He got on well with Ryan as well. Tyler didn’t speak to him that much. Not in a rude way (he assumed) but because they didn’t have that much in common. They could have talked about sports if Pete hadn’t missed the baseball tryouts back in February. He missed playing on a team. At any rate, Tyler had joined Patrick in spending most of lunch doing his homework.

Public school was fucking stressful- Pete had remembered that part. But two months into the semester, it wasn't as horrible as he'd thought it would be. Somehow, he still managed to keep on top of the work and take decent notes. Or copy someone else's decent notes. The thing that was most stressful was the possibility of failing geometry, and he'd managed to scrape Bs on all the tests so far. He'd thanked Patrick for every one of them. Patrick had said it was "nothing".

"Alright," Pete said on Friday afternoon, throwing his bag onto his bedroom floor, "Math me up."

Patrick laughed, turning pink. "Okay?" Pete just grinned at him and Patrick blushed even more. As much as he tried to hide it, it was easy to embarrass Patrick. Back when he'd been flirting with Patrick, Pete had been able to capitalise on that fact a lot. _And why the fuck shouldn't I now?_ If Patrick had made a decision, this most likely wouldn't change it.

So, for that small amount of time, Pete went back to the small things. Touches. Brushing hands or leaning against Patrick's shoulder for a second. That sort of thing. Patrick didn't say anything, but Pete saw a tiny smile on his lips. Which felt like an accomplishment.

The work that day was easy- that or Pete was getting better at it (he doubted that). When he finished the question he was on, he saw that Patrick was sitting and staring at his desk. "Why do we always work on the floor?"

"I don't know, I guess it became, like, a thing." Patrick nodded like that had made any sense whatsoever. "And my desk is too small for us both to sit at it."

They were both doing a good job of not talking about what they should be. At least, Pete thought they should be. Patrick might want to forget the whole conversation. Pete could normally read people well, but Patrick was impossible.

Patrick coughed and Pete looked up, aware that he'd been lost in his thoughts for a good few minutes now. Patrick mumbled an apology and they lapsed back into silence. _Say something,_ he thought to himself, despite having no idea what that something would be.

"So, uh-" it sounded painfully awkward, even to him- "about last week. What you said…" He hated how Patrick fucked him up. "I- how do you feel now?"

"I still want you to." He glanced up at Pete briefly.

Pete was aware that he should ask _are you sure?_ after last time, but he didn't want to wait any more. He was done with the waiting and the angst and all he wanted was _something_. Even if it was the last time, it was better to not leave everything how it was now.

He put one hand under Patrick's chin and tilted his face up so they were looking each other in the eyes. Pete was pretty sure they were both holding their breath.

And he leaned in and kissed Patrick for the second time.

He was a lot more cautious this time, too scared of anything going wrong. It was barely a kiss- their mouths brushed together for a second, no more. Soft and sweet, how everyone's first few kisses were. But the fear was there as well, real and tangible. Pete was aware of everything. How gentle Patrick's lips were. The fact that they were both holding their breath. Their only point of contact apart from their lips was Pete's fingers under Patrick's face- Patrick didn't touch him at all. When he pulled away, he saw that Patrick's hands were curled into fists, pushing himself up against the floor. Pete sat back down, mouth dry. Waiting to see what would happen.

There was a long silence before Patrick mumbled, "Okay," moving his hands off the floor and pulling his sweater sleeves over his palms.

Pete let out a breath. "Yeah." He could see Patrick's hands shaking. Patrick saw him staring and started twisting them in his lap. The tension remained unbroken between them, neither of them moving. Patrick was the one to speak next, asking Pete if he still wanted him to stay. Pete nodded, standing up and offering Patrick his hand. Patrick took it, pulling himself up so they were face-to-face again. In that moment, they were so close Pete could have kissed him again. But he feared pushing it too far.

On the face of it, everything was normal. Patrick held his hand when they watched a movie, leaning into Pete's side. Talked about the normal safe topics of conversation- mainly school- over dinner with Pete's mom. He went home at the same time he had every week.

He could have kidded himself that it _was_ normal again, until he went to hug Patrick when he was about to leave. The same way he had before all of this had happened. And Patrick flinched. He immediately leaned back into Pete, mumbling "bye" into his shoulder. It brought Pete back to the real world with a jolt, though. This wasn’t going to be as easy as he wanted it to be.

_Is this how it's always going to feel with us?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic playlist: [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/aestheticryan/playlist/4sjy1eF8tTzHyZLQugKwil)


	12. The Right Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, I hope it was sort of worth the wait.  
> Title song: "Black Butterflies & Déjà Vu", The Maine

It was four weeks since their first kiss that hadn't ended in disaster. Since then, everything seemed to have frozen.

All it was now was another part of their routine. Pete would kiss him once. Closed mouth and brief, the same way as last time. Then they'd pretend like nothing had happened. Sure, he appreciated routine a lot more now, but he wondered if it was why they were stuck like this.

Or if it was because he feared pushing things or because Patrick didn’t want anything more to happen. There was no way he wanted to make Patrick do anything he didn't want to, but he was frustrated. Mainly with the lack of communication from Patrick. Even though that was unfair. Pete wasn’t doing anything to help it himself.

Patrick was still scared, Pete could tell that. Sometimes, his hand still shook when Pete held it. And Pete was willing to wait for him, wait as long as Patrick needed him to. Pete was a little bit in love with him. Not like he'd ever tell him that. But he wanted whatever was best for Patrick, even if it meant not talking about this for a while.

This day was no different to all the others. They sat together on the floor after Pete's homework. Pete leaned in and kissed him after a moment of hesitation. Despite all the stupid complications, this was still the best part of his week. Always.

"Sorry," Patrick mumbled when Pete pulled away.

"What for?" Pete asked, confused.

"I guess- because you want this to move forward, don't you? And I…"

Pete immediately felt guilty for what he'd been thinking, like Patrick had been able to tell. "That doesn't matter. It's whatever you're comfortable with that does."

"I don't know if I am, I don't know anything." And he sounded so frustrated, like he was going to cry.

Pete took his hand. "I get this is… difficult for you." He was aware he sounded like his awful counsellor from freshman year. "What do you wanna do?"

Patrick tapped his fingers against the floor before saying, "What you want to do."

"You sure?"

"Yeah." Then, "Please."

Pete pulled him in. Kissed him like normal at first, before opening his mouth. He kept it slow. As much as he trusted Patrick, he didn't want to freak him out. It didn't seem to. Patrick put his hand on Pete's thigh, first time he'd ever touched him when they kissed. That surprised him, in the best way.

They didn't go any further than that. It was no longer than a minute, by Pete's estimate. But it was enough. Enough to make him breathless.

Though that might just have been the fact it was Patrick.

Neither of them said anything. Everything felt tense and awkward and Pete regretted everything before Patrick said, "Okay."

"Yeah?"

Patrick nodded. Then he smiled a little- for a second, before moving his hand off Pete's leg and biting his lip. Pete hated these awkward few minutes that always followed, and he predicted it would be worse this time.

One thing he realised as they sat in silence, Patrick biting his thumbnail, was that they'd never left his room except for dinner. This room was the setting for everything that happened between them. As soon as they left it, everything was back to 'friends'. He stared at the peeling posters, his desk by the window. Leaned back against his double bed to stare at the thumbtacks in the ceiling the old owners had left there that he still hadn’t pulled out. Everything felt the same.

So he decided to change that.

"Do you wanna go into the spare room?" he asked. "I keep all my instruments in there, you'd like it."

Patrick blinked. "Okay."

"Oh, cool," Patrick breathed as they stood in what was officially the guest bedroom. The bed was by one wall, with the piano, Pete's acoustic and electric guitars, bass and amps against the other. "I can't remember the last time I played on an electric."

"Go for it."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really. Don't break it," Pete added, semi-serious.

"Sure, before you said that I was going to smash it." It struck Pete that it was the first time he'd heard Patrick be sarcastic. He always laughed at other people's jokes, but never made any of his own. Another 'tell' to Pete of how much of a front he put up for everyone. Being known as the serious, studious friend was a pretty good explanation for a lot of things, Pete figured.

Pete plugged the guitar into the amp and Patrick started tuning it. It took him some time and it made Pete realize how little time he'd had to practice so far this semester. He hadn't even been able to get much time in over spring break last week. I won't get to see Patrick for a whole week, he'd thought on the day school had ended. "Do you want to come over some time over break?" Pete had asked him that day.

"I don't think my parents would let me, they haven't met you. And it's better if they don't," he'd mumbled the last part, more to himself than to Pete. That had been the end of that discussion. He'd missed Patrick all of last week.

Now, they ended up doing more talking than playing- Patrick got easily enthusiastic about music and Pete didn't want to stop him. The way he was talking felt like another insight into the real him that Pete felt privileged to get to see. He was leaning over the guitar in his lap, smiling and gesturing with his hands. All Pete wanted to do was to kiss him again, but everything felt so perfect in this moment he didn't want to ruin it.

When Pete's mom got home, she found him and Patrick still there- Patrick had played on his bass for a bit, after they'd ended up talking about how he'd taught himself bass on the lower four strings of his guitar. She leaned round the door to ask then both about their day, and Pete noticed how Patrick sat up a little, leaning away from him. He hoped that meant it had felt like a 'moment' to him too. Then he realized what he was thinking and mentally cursed himself for being so cliché. Again. Patrick always got him like this.


	13. I'll Make This Perfect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been writing 3 chapters at once so hopefully the next one will be up a bit faster  
> Title song: "Perfect", Marianas Trench

It was Sunday and Pete missed him. This happened every weekend and he felt stupid for it every time. After all, he'd seen Patrick five days a week for the past three months. But there was that stupid part of him that had wanted more. Too see Patrick on weekends, to spend longer together when they were. He'd never wished a lesson on music theory be _longer_ before.

To try and force himself out of this slump, he texted Gerard. _can i come over?_

Gerard's response: _please do. mikey has a friend over  + i'm the platonic version of a third wheel right now_

Pete: _who says 'platonic' in a text? (i'll be there in 5)_

Gerard: _die_

Pete ended up late by five minutes, despite living a thirty second walk away. He had to spend that time telling his mom that no, he didn't have that much homework to do, meaning that he could go out. It was bullshit and she knew it. After quizzing him on what he _actually_ had to do, she let him go, shouting after him to be back before dinner. School, he had decided for the thousandth time this week, was a waste and took up way more time than it should.

At Gerard's, he found Mikey lying on the couch, accompanied by a guy with curly hair. He had his feet in Mikey's lap. Gerard wasn't anywhere to be seen. They both looked up when Pete walked in.

"Gee's upstairs, tell him he sucks for not wanting to watch Spiderman."

"Sure." Pete still didn't know how to act around Mikey. They seemed like a nice kid, but they noticed too many things for Pete to be entirely relaxed around them.

As he walked out, he heard Mikey's friend ask, "Who was that?" He didn't find out how Mikey responded.

Once he was at the top of the stairs, he walked to Gerard's room and pushed open the door. It was more of a mess than the last time he'd been over- there were pieces of paper covered in drawings- from rough sketches to ink and marker drawings that looked like they'd taken hours- all over the walls and floor. Gerard noticed him. "Hi. New comic idea," he explained.

"Mikey and their friend said to say you suck."

"Assholes, Gerard said, smiling. "Ray's a nice guy. He doesn't care about anything except guitar and him and Mikey are all, like, cuddly with each other. It's weird that guys can't be like that with their friends. Frank and I used to hold hands all the time in elementary before people gave us shit for it."

Pete moved some paper from Gerard's desk chair, so he could sit down. "Cute. I didn't have any friends before middle school." Elementary school had been horrendous, he remembered that. It had been alright when he'd lived in California. When he'd moved in the third grade, it had stopped being like that. Being a mixed-race family in an all white neighborhood hadn't been great fun.

"What about Patrick?"

"My mom was the only person in the village who didn't go to church, we weren't supposed to talk."

Gerard leaned back on his hands. "Speaking of Patrick, how're things going with you guys?"

"I don't even know, I mean-" Pete offered an edited version of the events of the past few weeks. He'd been trying to avoid talking about it with Gerard- he'd been worried it would become the _only_ thing he'd talk about if he let himself. He'd missed being able to go through it with someone. It sounded less complicated when he said it out loud, more manageable. 

"Wow," Gerard said when he'd stopped, "fucking hell."

"Yeah."

"Dude, how are you dealing with this?"

Pete considered it for a second. "I like him enough that this shit seems worth it. And I think it's getting better."

Gerard nodded. "From what you've told me it doesn't seem like he's trying to mess around with you. So if it makes you happy, stick with it."

"It does. He does." Pete couldn't stop himself from smiling. Letting himself think of Patrick like this was refreshing. Someone who made him happy and cared about him, rather than as all the difficulties that there were.

"Cute." Gerard started picking at his nails. "Talking of boys, it's mine and Frank's nine months next week and, I don't know. It feels like a big thing."

"That's a long time," Pete observed.

"Longest relationship I've ever been in. Which shouldn't be a surprise considering I'd only dated girls before-" he laughed- "but I'd been worried about if it would work or not, 'cause we'd known each other for so long before."

"I can't imagine keeping a friend for as long as you guys have known each other."

"It is pretty unusual, I guess." Gerard picked up one of the sketches and started erasing part of it, frowning. "I gotta fix this now while I'm noticing it," he murmured, picking up a few more sheets of paper to uncover a pencil. He was redrawing one of the arms. From what Pete could tell, it was some sort of superhero.

"I think I'm in love with him," Pete said suddenly. He hadn't thought about it before how (he'd been making a conscious effort to not) but it was true.

"Shit." Pete was glad he didn't have to explain to Gerard why it wasn't a good thing.

"I can’t tell him though, it's all starting to go okay and-" he caught himself. "Yeah. Shit." Gerard patted his shoulder, which made him laugh.

"Sorry, I'm not good at this sorta thing…"

"It's fine. Let's stop talking about it. Tell me about your comic."

"You sure? I can go on about it for ages."

"Please do."

Gerard grinned and launched into an explanation, talking with his hands and jumping up to point at drawings on the walls or to get them off the floor. Pete wished he had something like this he could get enthusiastic about. Like back when he used to write songs. Maybe he should start that again. He _was_ an angsty teen, after all. And he had a lot to write about.


	14. Better Not to Say

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small reminder to please check the warnings in the description- some of that stuff starts to appear here  
> Title song: "The Stigma (Boys Don't Cry)", As It Is

Patrick was smiling a little when Pete pulled away, reaching up to flatten his hair back down instead of to wipe his mouth. He'd been more confident kissing Pete than last week, too. Maybe it had been because of last week's what-generic-young-adult-authors-would-call-a 'moment' when they'd been sitting in the music room. Or because Patrick had stopped caring so much due to a completely unrelated reason. Most likely that. They didn't do anything more than the previous week and he didn't mind. The way Patrick had looked at him was better than anything else.

It was, at least in that moment, one of the best days of Pete's life, no matter the reason for it.

So of course he was going to go and ruin it with his stupid past. He was that sort of person.

Pete stretched. "It's warm in here." Patrick shrugged, said something about how he hadn't noticed. Pete forced himself to not hesitate before he pulled his sweater off over his head.

He saw the way Patrick's eyes widened, trying to hide his shock.

Pete wasn't surprised by that. He'd never made the decision to show anyone his scars before, but as far as he was concerned this was an alright reaction.

He took a moment to look down at his arms before offering an explanation, reminding himself how they'd look to someone who had never seen them before. There weren't many scars, considering how much he'd cut at one point. They were there, though, unhidden. White lines across the insides of both of his forearms, more on his left than his right. Most were small. There were some, longer and wider, that could have come from a fit of anger. He couldn't remember. The period of time this had happened in was all a blur. Messy.

"It's-" he sighed. "Even the newest ones are almost two years old now, it's not anything to worry about. Past stuff." Patrick nodded. He didn't seem freaked out now. More cautious than anything. Pete wasn't sure if showing him had been a good idea or not. He trusted that Patrick wouldn't tell anyone- there was always that nagging doubt telling him otherwise he couldn't get rid of. He remembered showing up at school in eighth grade, not knowing- _stop._

"How did you stop?" Patrick asked cautiously.

Pete forced himself to ignore how this felt like a massive warning sign. He didn't want to believe what it could be. Patrick was curious. All the smart people he'd known were like that. If it was something he'd never come across before, of course he'd ask questions. He didn't want to make assumptions about something like this. There was no way he should let himself think anything without actual proof.

"I guess…" he'd been asked this question by various therapists and an assorted range of medical professionals before. It never became easier to answer. "I guess I just forced myself to stop, there wasn't much else to it. I never really get triggered by anything, not talking about it or seeing images or whatever. It was… I don't know, more because of, like, how out of control I felt when I was manic and how dead everything was when I was depressed." He stopped. He'd missed out a lot. How his mom had found out. The relapses. The fact that it had been the first thing he'd cried about in months at the time because of how difficult it was. It was easier to simplify, make it sound better than it had been.

He'd not talked with Patrick about his episodes since the first time he'd explained it. It felt weird to talk about his mental health with anyone that wasn't his mom or his therapist. Even the nurse that did his blood test every few months to make sure his meds weren't fucking him up only asked about side effects and if he was "displaying symptoms". He still hadn't told any of his other friends, even though he knew they wouldn't care.

"Seriously," he continued, "don't worry about me. I'm doing so much better now."

Patrick smiled at him. "I'm glad." Pete smiled back and leant against the bed behind him. Patrick's face seemed to freeze. He started tracing patterns on the floor. When he next spoke, it was with a strange, flat tone of voice. "Can I show you something?"

Pete felt like someone had injected ice water into his veins. He knew what this was going to be. He just did. He nodded, unable to speak.

It was worse than he'd thought it would be, worse than he'd ever seen. He hated that being his first thought, but it was.

His arms were covered- fainter white and pink scars, but also newer ones. Bright pink lines and some cuts that looked at most a week old. On the front and back of both forearms in what seemed to be an even spread- not like Pete's, which were mainly on his left. In that moment, it hit him how much he'd underestimated what Patrick had been through. The impact of being told you didn't deserve to be alive was something Pete had experienced first-hand, but he'd assumed Patrick was… stronger than he'd been. That he'd make better decisions.

There was one scar that spread diagonally all the way down his left arm, from just below where the veins were most prominent to his elbow. Other marks crossed over it, distorting parts. It was mirrored on his right arm so that if he'd held his arms side by side, they would have formed something like a 'V'. From what Pete could tell by a one-second glance it was a few years old. But it still terrified him. Whatever had driven Patrick to do that-

Patrick looked terrified. He hugged himself round the middle, spreading his fingers over his forearms in some desperate attempt to hide his arms.

Pete couldn't think of anything to say. "Patrick…" he began, before halting. He'd never been in a situation like this. "Fuck, I'm sorry," he mumbled.

Patrick pulled his sleeves back down over his arms. "No, it's fine, I shouldn't have-"

"Do you want to talk about it more?"

"It started with these rules." He looked uncomfortable, but kept talking. "I came up with them when I first figured, you know, about guys." A quiet sigh, then, "Every time I broke one I had to do that."

"What rules?"

"The first one was to not 'fall for'-" he made air quotes around the words- "anybody. Second one was that if I did, I had to keep my distance. No conversations that weren't necessary, no spending time together outside of school, that sort of thing. And the third one." He faltered. "The third one was to never act on any feelings."

The silence that followed gave Pete time to process it. The more he thought about it, the worse it was. Because of what they'd been doing. He'd been adding cuts to Patrick's skin without being aware of it. In essence, he'd been hurting Patrick. Every time they'd done anything.

Fuck.

"We can't do this anymore," Pete said, moving away a fraction. Patrick opened his mouth like he was going to reply. Pete kept talking anyway. "You said it was okay and now I find out this? I can't be responsible for you doing this, fucking hell. You shouldn't have lied to me."

Once he'd finished speaking, Pete wanted to take back every word. He could tell by Patrick's face that he'd been too accusatory over something that was an addiction in many ways.

"I haven't been doing it because of that for a bit now." His voice shook the same way it had the last time they'd talked about his sexuality. "It's been more this feeling like, I get hit by all this anxiety at once and I can't breathe or anything and it's the only way to stop it."

"How do I know that's not a lie?" Pete couldn't stop himself. Taking out all his frustrations on one person who wasn't the cause of (most of) them. He hated himself. All he could feel was scared and out of control and he didn't know what else to do.

Patrick mouthed something that looked like ' _please_ ' before curling up into himself, pressing his face into his knees. _He's crying because of me._

_Why do I fuck everything up?_


	15. Sometimes We Take Chances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed Pete's birthday so everything fits together. That's all  
> Title song: "Hum Hallelujah", Fall Out Boy

"Patrick?" Pete didn't know what to do. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"It's fine. Don't apologize." Patrick pushed himself back up. Tears were still running down his face. He pushed his glasses up so he could wipe his eyes. "I shouldn't have said anything."

"No, don't-." Pete felt like the worst person on the planet. "It's better that you said something, I reacted badly and it's my fault."

"It's not." He still wasn't meeting Pete's eyes.

Pete tried to work out what he was meant to say to that. He was filled with guilt, but Patrick seemed to be attempting to play it down, acting like it wasn't a big deal that a few minutes ago he'd been crying. What the fuck was he meant to do?

"If it's better for us to not do this, you can say." Even though it hurt to suggest it. "Please look after yourself before anything else."

"It helps," Patrick replied. "I swear. It's easier to start to hate it less when I have actual reasons not to. I haven't done _that_ because of us in the last few weeks, there's been other things." The look he gave Pete after he'd said it was enough for him to not ask questions. Despite feeling like he should.

They were sitting far apart, Pete noticed. Too far. Patrick was twisting his sleeves around his hands and for the first time Pete was aware of what that seemingly cute and innocent habit was. He'd been like that, at his worst. Scared that somebody would see, that his arms would somehow be exposed. Double checking to make sure his cuts were still covered. Some days he had the same creeping paranoia about his scars, but it was less of a worry now they were faded.

Pete hesitantly reached over and rested his hand on Patrick's knee. Patrick didn't object. Just shuffled a little closer to him. Pete couldn't tell if he'd done enough to fix things. He hoped so.

It wasn't until after ten minutes of quiet conversation, avoiding what they needed to talk about, that Patrick said, "This is going to sound bad, but I never realised that it got this awful for you." His words came out of nowhere. Kind of out of place in a discussion about which bands were releasing music soon.

Pete laughed. It sounded forced. "I wasn't that bad then, comparatively. I mean, I had no friends because someone outed me at school and I was getting bullied and beat up and the stress of that and my parents getting a messy divorce triggered my first episode, but it was worse after I stopped. Guess 'cause it got worse in high school."

Patrick bit his lip. "Pete, I'm so sorry." He seemed to genuinely care. Then it hit Pete that he'd been expecting Patrick to _not_ care. After all this time.

He wanted to prove to himself that Patrick did care. So he started to speak about something he'd thought he never would again. "The worst time-" his voice wavered. "The worst time was in the first semester of high school and I was getting drunk in the park. By myself. Then these senior guys I didn't know came up to me and…" _Stop it stop being so weak_ "Two of them grabbed me by my arms and legs and I thought that- you know. That they were going to." He stopped. "But they held me down while their friends hit me and kicked me and shouted slurs at me instead."

He hated it. He hated remembering. How it made him feel so weak and powerless and completely unlike the person he was the majority of the time. Memories of that point in his life weren't something he liked. Wished he'd forgotten all of it the way everything that had happened while he'd been manic was blurred.

Everything was small. Trapping him. He focused on the sound of Patrick's breaths, grounding himself. Taking the time  to bring himself back to reality, where he was safe and okay and people really did care. Patrick asked him if he was okay. Pete told him that he was. "I just- it's still hard to understand that someone I figured I could trust would go and tell everyone that. I wasn't ready to be out, I wasn't…" It was terrifying, talking about it, and good at the same time.

Pete wanted to tell him _it_. Patrick had trusted him with so much and he had to talk to someone about it who hadn't been told about it by someone else beforehand. If Patrick had been going to spread stuff about Pete, then he would have done it a long time ago.

"You can't tell anyone this."

"Of course I won't." Patrick took his hand and squeezed it. That small gesture, knowing how scared Patrick was still, felt like a lot. _It's going to be okay._ The anticipatory look on Patrick's face worried him a little. How he was going to react wasn't something Pete could predict. He liked knowing things for certain, but this time he'd have to give that up. That was what trust was, right?

Pete forced the sentence out. "I tried to kill myself in September."

Everything froze like the scene was a photograph. Not real life. It felt like he'd somehow managed to remove himself from the world by saying it.

Then Patrick reached over and put his arm around Pete's shoulders and Pete realized he'd started crying. "Fuck, sorry," he mumbled. All the anxiety he'd had over hiding this, trying to keep the past at a distance, had spilled over. Patrick whispered reassurances while Pete wiped his eyes and leaned his head on Patrick's chest. "I never cry, this is so stupid."

"It's not, I get that it's a big thing to tell anyone." He was right, but that didn't stop Pete feeling like an idiot. "Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me," Patrick added. Pete bit back an _I love you_. Probably the worst time to say it.

"Can I keep talking?" Patrick nodded and squeezed his hand again. Pete took a few seconds to figure out where to start explaining this mess. "It was a week after my birthday.

"I'd been given this medication for my anxiety, Ativan, and I'd kinda been, like, self-medicating with it. For the mania, to try and slow myself down, but I didn't know that's what it was at the time. All I did know was that everything went too fast and I'd get myself in trouble and I was angry and paranoid all the time. And my mom was worried because I never slept. I don't know how many episodes I'd had by that point, I'd had my first one in eighth grade and by this point I was desperate."

He swallowed. "So one night I took the car out- I didn't have my license yet, I was gonna get it the next week or something before this happened. I drove around until I got to the parking lot of this fucking Best Buy which was miles from home and I turned up the radio and took the whole bottle of pills. I can't remember why. I only know what my mom could tell me afterwards. She phoned me up to ask where I was and I was so, so fucked by that point my speech was all slurred. She thought I was drunk at first. But she got it out of me what I'd done and where I was and called an ambulance.

"I was in hospital for a week. I hadn't done much to myself physically- it's hard to overdose on benzos- I stayed there for so long to be monitored and diagnosed and put on the right meds, all of that." He saw the way Patrick was looking at him, sympathy and uncertainty. "I'm better now, you know that. I've been stable for months, I do everything I need to so everything stays that way. I like how my life is right now." He was shaking, though it was more relief than anything else. Saying it out loud put it in perspective- sometimes it escaped him how far he'd come in the past seven months.

Still holding him, Patrick mumbled, "And I'm so proud of you for making it through all this."


	16. It Was Always You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not anything to say here. Enjoy (??)  
> Title song: "Always", Panic! At The Disco

After the chaos of last Friday, Pete tried to act normal around Patrick. That was what he wanted to happen.  Despite that, there were some things that he couldn't help. Glancing over at Patrick during the classes they had together more than he usually did, to check that he was okay. Even though he'd never show it if he wasn't.

All his 'how are you?'s became loaded with extra meaning. _How are you_  really _?_ If Patrick had noticed, he didn't react to it. Pete still got the same "I'm fine" as before. It would have been convincing, had it not been for last week.

As much as he regretted calling Patrick a liar, it was true; but not in the way Pete had implied when he was angry. None of his other friends had any idea what was going on. A short text conversation on Tuesday night had resulted in Patrick telling him he didn't think Tyler or Ryan would 'get it' and that it was too late anyway. _Since seventh grade_ , Patrick had said. Since he'd realized he was gay. He'd been friends with Tyler then. And he'd still carried on as normal, showing nobody what he was going through. That hurt to think about.

Pete wished he'd been friends with Patrick at that point. The time they'd been apart had contained the worst moments of both of their lives. Maybe it would have been better if they'd had each other. Or if they'd been closer back in elementary school, so they would have tried harder to find a way to keep in touch. If Pete had kissed Patrick on the last day of school. One small action could have changed how things had turned out for them both.

He was thinking about all this at the same time as he was kissing Patrick. Which probably wasn't the best idea. And he didn't _want_ to be distracted, seeing as this was the best part of his week and Patrick was currently sat in his lap, making out with him. Even just noticing that made him lose his train of thought for a while. It was for the best. He needed to get out of his mind sometimes.

When Patrick moved to sit next to him again, he was blushing and stumbling over his words. It was cute. The idea that it was because of him messed with Pete's head a little.

"Have you told anyone?" Patrick asked. "About this." Pete could have sworn he'd been about to say 'us'. Like there was an 'us'.

 _Fuck._ He wasn't sure how Patrick would react to the truth. Lying would be worse, though. "I told Gerard because he already knew I liked you from the start. And I needed to talk to someone about it."

Patrick nodded slowly. "Does he know about…" He couldn't finish the sentence.

"No, I didn't tell him anything you wouldn't have wanted him to know."

"Thanks." Patrick relaxed again, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling. "I like your room. Did I ever mention that?" The subject change seemed forced, but Pete wasn't complaining.

He laughed. "It's a mess."

"It's not that bad. And you have clutter. My room's only got school stuff and a guitar and everything's too neat."

Pete didn't understand how Patrick could hate being tidy. Sure, compared to most of his friends, Pete wasn't that messy. But he'd give anything to know where everything was at any given moment. "I've never been to your house."

"My parents don't let me have anyone over and it'd be a bad idea even if they did. If they managed to pick up on anything then I don't want to think about what they'd do." Pete felt like shit for bringing it up. Thought he'd managed to ruin it again. Then Patrick shrugged and changed the subject and Pete hoped that meant he hadn't.

They ended up going downstairs to watch a movie. Patrick didn't hesitate before sitting right next to him, letting Pete put his arm around him. It was a good day. Patrick's good days, when it came to how comfortable he was with Pete, tended to be obvious. Right now seemed to be one of those.

So it made sense to say it. There wasn't any point in keeping this a secret when he'd told Patrick everything life destroying anyway. While Patrick was happy with this was the best moment for it. He couldn't shake his trepidation, though.

"I love you," Pete murmured.

Patrick tilted his head up to look at him. His lips parted like he wanted to say something, but it took a few seconds before he did speak: "Oh." Quiet. Then, "Sorry."

"It's okay. You don't need to feel it too. I wanted to tell you, is all." Pete had convinced himself that this was okay, that this was what he'd been expecting. The ache in his chest told him otherwise. He'd been right. He'd managed to mess up another perfect day. _All my stupid fault._

"I do- I mean." Patrick rested his head on Pete's shoulder before adding, "I'm just still scared sometimes."

"That's fine. Take your time."

Patrick seemed to have nothing else to say, so Pete turned his attention back to the movie. He felt Patrick touch his arm. "Pete?"

"Hey."

"I still feel like I should apologize."

"Don't worry about it." What he wanted to say was, _please tell me anything that might make me think you feel the same way._ He didn't. Instead, Pete started stroking Patrick's hair. After a few seconds, Patrick nodded and lay against him again.

It seemed a lot like love.

When Patrick mumbled into his neck, "You look good today. And every other day," before smiling and kissing his cheek, it seemed a lot like love.

Every small act seemed a lot like love. He'd never felt so valued, so cared for, by another person. It could be his wishful thinking. Fuck, he wanted Patrick to be in love with him, of course he did. At the same time, he knew it could also be Patrick not wanting to admit it. How he'd said 'I do' when he'd started to reply to Pete. If there was even a possibility that he did- that was enough. Pete would live with that.


	17. We Need To Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something is gonna happen but Not Yet  
> Title song: "We Need To Talk", Waterparks

Every day, Pete got into school early enough to hang out with his friends before homeroom, and that Wednesday was no exception. Patrick came in a few minutes later than the rest of them. His bus barely made it in on time most days. But Patrick didn't complain. Never did.

He didn't look any different to normal- no happier, no nothing. Same closed off expression. His hair was messy from the wind outside, though. Pete had spent a few minutes trying to get his hair to lie flat after he'd gotten in, because he'd looked ridiculous. Somehow, it looked cute on Patrick. Kinda hot. _Let's not go there._

"Happy birthday!" Tyler said as soon as Patrick had reached them.

Patrick looked uncomfortable, shrugging and mumbling something to Tyler under his breath.

"It's your birthday?" Pete hoped he hadn't managed to miss being told this at some point.

"I don't like making a big deal about it." Okay, so Patrick just hadn't told him. That was better and worse at the same time.

"He doesn't even let us get him stuff, it's so sad." Ryan sighed. "Not like I ever have money anyway, I guess."

Patrick was standing there awkwardly, not quite meeting anyone's eyes.

"Did your parents get you anything?" Tyler tried to change the direction of the conversation.

Pete saw Patrick flinch. Neither Tyler or Ryan seemed to notice. "I think they might let me learn to drive. I haven't asked." His emotionless tone was enough to signal that the conversation was over. They left for their classrooms in silence. Patrick looked drained, somehow. A sort of tiredness in how he held himself. Asking if he was okay would most likely make it worse, Pete guessed. Whatever it was, he doubted Patrick was going to talk about it when other people could overhear.

It seemed weird to him that nobody else ever noticed when Patrick was having an off day. Tyler and Ryan might be weird at times, but he'd never thought they'd not comment on something like that. Maybe it was because Pete spent the most time with Patrick that he saw these things. Or he was more observant than them. Since Tyler had taken a week to notice Ryan had cut about half his hair off, that was possible.

Patrick was staring straight ahead, slumped over his desk. If they weren't here, in this stupid fucking building, it would be easier. As it was, Pete didn't know what to do.

The classroom was noisy as more people walked in. The teacher hadn't turned up- multiple people were sat on top of the desks, rather than behind them. One guy was writing on the board. Pete couldn't read what it said. In short, nobody was paying them any attention.

"Hey." Pete leaned over and poked him. "Happy birthday, nerd."

"Thanks." Patrick pressed his hands to his face. Pete was pretty sure that he did that whenever he wanted to hide that he was blushing. If they weren't sitting in the middle of a classroom, he'd point it out. Tell Patrick it was adorable and make him more flustered.

Even though the only reason was because Patrick hadn't said anything before, Pete felt bad about not having gotten Patrick anything. He stared at the wall for a few minutes before he had an idea. He reached in his pocket before saying to Patrick, "So you said nobody can buy you anything, right?"

Patrick frowned and replied, "Yeah."

"Okay. So." Pete took the guitar pick out and put it on Patrick's desk. "I didn't buy it, I found it."

"It's yours, I can't-"

"Patrick. It's a shiny guitar pick I found in my jeans. Probably cost like, fifty cents. Take the damn thing."

Patrick seemed like he had to have a serious debate with himself before sighing, "Fine," and picking it up off the desk. "It's pretty."

"Mm." _Like you._

"Thanks. I appreciate it." Still looking uncertain, he frowned a little and turned the pick over in his fingers. He caught Pete watching him and put it away in the front pocket of his bag, fingers fumbling over the zip. He had nice hands. Pete immediately wished away that thought.

Pete couldn't imagine not wanting to make a big deal out of his birthday. One day a year when people celebrate the fact that you're alive? It was a pretty damn cool idea to him. Still, he had no idea how things worked in Patrick's house; he'd spent most of his life surrounded by conservative Christians who still gave a shit about their kid's birthday, however. Every thing Patrick let slip about his home life made Pete feel more worried about what his parents were like.

Something scared him about what situation Patrick might be stuck in. The fact that they were probably extreme homophobes who had unknowingly forced their son to hate himself for years was bad enough. And Pete felt like there was more. More he couldn't talk about.

For all his morning classes, Pete drew under the desk instead of taking notes. He wasn't much of an artist- he'd already decided he was dropping art for US history next year. So what he produced wasn't beautiful. It was good enough, good by his standards. He wished it was better.

He caught Patrick going to the music room at the start of lunch. "I, uh-" _Can I say something right to him for once?_ "I kinda drew you," he said, pushing the folded piece of notebook paper into Patrick's hand.

Patrick unfolded it and Pete was aware that he was holding his breath. For a second, Patrick stared at it without reacting. Then his face broke into a smile- a proper one. Magical.

"I love it." His eyes were shining: it looked like he was about to start crying. He kept smiling. "Thank you so much."

Pete decided it was worth the risk and pulled him into a brief hug. The hallway was almost deserted now, everyone having moved on to the canteen or wherever they were going to eat.

Patrick stepped away. "I'm gonna go and practice now."

"Sure. See you in English."

Before he turned away, Pete saw Patrick pause and reread the writing underneath the cartoon. Having spent so long working out what to say, Pete had memorized what it said. _Happy birthday to my favorite person shorter than me. Love, Pete_


	18. It Follows Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One (1) chapter where it all goes right before the next mess  
> Title song: "It Follows", Waterparks

The sun was setting on Thursday evening. Pete had finished all the work he could be bothered to do and was wasting his time switching between four different tabs on his laptop when his phone went off.

Patrick: _Hi._

Smiling, Pete closed his laptop and leaned back against the wall. _hey, how are you?_

_Alright, sort of._

_sort_ _of?_

There was a few minutes between Patrick reading his text and him replying. _My parents are fighting again._

'Again'. That worried him. It was bad enough to have to overhear your parents fighting once, let alone have it be regular.

_do they fight a lot?_

_At least once a week since I was a kid, but it's the worst it's been for a while right now._

_i'm sorry. i know how it feels, my parents argued all the time before they separated_ How useless he was at reassuring Patrick seemed pathetic to him.   _are you listening to music? that used to help me_

_Yes, as loud as I can, but I can still hear them. It's better now, though._

He didn't want to be sat here remembering those nights. The summer before grade eight. Shouting almost every night. Hearing one of his parents walking out again and being scared he'd never see them again. Or, more accurately, that he'd never see his mom again. Even back then, he'd recognized that his dad was the worse parent. And that was before he'd refused to come and see Pete in hospital in September because he was 'busy'.

Then, one day, he'd walked out for the last time. Came back the next day to pack his things and moved back to California that week. It had been so quiet afterwards. The calm at home was enough to stop Pete from caring about the talk that inevitably arose from anything like that. The stereotype of nobody having anything better to do than talking about other people's lives in small towns had been true in his case.

Pete decided to change the subject. The way Patrick was talking made it seem like he'd be grateful. _can i recommend a song?_

_Sure._

It was a risk to say what he did, Pete knew that. _it follows by waterparks. it reminds me of you_ He wanted to make Patrick happy. Whether this would or not was impossible to tell. The song had evoked Patrick since practically that first day of seeing him again. Messy handwriting and hiding a laugh and clothes that never quite fit. Something in it made Pete think of everything. From their first cautious glances in class to holding hands to quiet kisses on his bedroom floor. The fear and the joy. Everything.

Nothing for a while. Then: _It's so good_

_you like it?_

_Yes!_

He nearly laughed out loud from relief. Patrick liked it. He liked that this weird, mixed-up love song reminded Pete of him. Honestly, it could only be them. Nobody else would understand why a song about feeling messed up and confused was sweet to him. Another way Patrick got him better than anyone else in the world.

They settled back into superficial conversation, the way they spoke most days. Talking, but not about anything. Pete told awful jokes and Patrick said they were funny. There wasn't a way of telling whether he meant it or not.

Patrick: _There's something I want to tell you. I was going to say it tomorrow but can I say it now in case I get too scared then?_

 _go ahead_ Pete felt his heart racing. This could either be amazing or so terrible he wouldn't leave the house for days. He put his phone down and stared at the wall to stop himself from obsessively waiting for whatever Patrick was going to say.

_I love you._

He heard himself mumbling, "oh my God" as he read and reread the message. Three words. That mattered so much to him. Had caused him so much angst over the past few weeks. And Patrick did- he wanted to admit it. Pete couldn't stop smiling at the idea that Patrick was in love with him.

Though he couldn't stop himself from questioning it. _you're for real?_

_Of course._

Patrick, after Pete didn't reply: _I wouldn't lie to you._

It took him back to their earlier arguments. The guilt. All over again. Yet at the same time, there was security in his words. He wanted Pete to know he could be trusted and he wanted to trust Pete. He wanted Pete to love him.

_i love you too. of course_

Patrick: _I was scared I'd be too late…_

_of course not_

_It's so good to be able to tell you._ Pete was sat there, smiling at his phone screen. He wondered if Patrick was doing the same. _You make me feel safe. I don't get that with anyone else._ That was one of the nicest things he'd ever been told.

 

Pete ended up curled under his comforter, messaging Patrick for the rest of the evening as it faded to night. In the best way, he felt so far away from the rest of the world. Even from his friends messaging each other on the group chat. He tuned out from the notifications. From the sound of the TV downstairs, the neighbors drilling again. Everything was less important than Patrick. Every now and then, he'd check the time. That was all.

Patrick: _I think they've stopped. I'm going to bed now, I'm so exhausted._ He was glad for Patrick, but there was a small part of him that wished he could talk for longer. Even though he knew that was selfish.

 _of course. get some rest._ Pete's imagination ran away with itself. Sleepy Patrick? Curled up in bed next to him, talking in a soft voice? He wanted that. Maybe Patrick could stay over one weekend. Make up some excuse for his parents. And have a perfect evening together. That was all he wanted. For things to be perfect for them. They'd both been through enough.

_I love you._

_i love you too_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Figured it was appropriate with this chapter to add another reminder that the fic playlist is [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4sjy1eF8tTzHyZLQugKwil) :)


	19. Scattered And Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Christmas to anyone who celebrates!  
> Title song: "Map of the Problematique", Muse

In about a week, it was going to be three months since Patrick had first kissed him. February seventh. Maybe not so long in real time, but it felt like ages. So much had happened since then. When Patrick had run off crying, he'd never have predicted they would end up like this.

'This' being kissing Patrick's neck, hearing his sharp intake of breath. Both still fully clothed, like always, but on Pete's bed this time. Patrick on his back and Pete pressed into his side. He was trying not to think about last night. How Patrick had wanted to tell him 'I love you' in person today. He pulled himself back up to Patrick's lips. Hearing him hum a little.

They ended up slowing down, sharing soft kisses while they caught their breaths back. Pete was smiling to himself, unable to hide it. Patrick mumbled something against his mouth that Pete didn't quite catch. "What'd you say?"

"You're pretty," he repeated.

"I love you," Pete told him by way of response.

Patrick hesitated, looking unsure, before saying, "I love you too." He must have caught Pete's look of surprise, because he added, "Really."

They lay there, in a silence they'd both become used to. Once awkward, it had now become comfortable. Neither of them felt the need to fill it with useless words.

Patrick tugged on his hand. "Hey," Pete mumbled, turning to him. Patrick's cheeks went pink.

"I- it's stupid. Don't worry about it."

"You sure?"

Patrick pulled a loose thread out of his sleeve before answering. "It's nothing really, but I'm going to be one week, like, clean tomorrow, and…"

"That's not nothing, that's amazing. Well done." Pete hugged him. As they sat there, he heard Patrick whisper 'thanks'. "I'm so proud of you, okay?"

Patrick pushed himself up and kissed him. A hand on the side of Pete's neck. "I love you," he whispered. Still a little shaky.

"I love you too."

A while later, when they were sat at dinner, Pete had an idea. He'd passed his driver's test at the weekend- over seven months after he was meant to have taken it- and he wanted to drive Patrick home. He decided to ask his mom right then.

"Sure, I guess." She turned to Patrick. "Did Pete mention that he finally got his licence?"

"Only once or twice." The sarcasm was blatant in his voice. Pete kicked him under the table and Patrick laughed. "You know I'm proud."

"Aw, thanks."

Pete saw his mom giving him that smile- the one that betrayed how new him having friends still was. The one she gave him when he got back from Gerard's, going to the mall not by himself or walking Patrick home. The one that showed how hard those fucked-up two years had been on her.

Pete wasn't sure if his mom was aware of him and Patrick. Since her outright asking if they were together after she'd met him for the second time, the topic hadn't come up. The closest they'd gotten to talking about it had been a few weeks ago, when she'd told him she thought he was a 'nice guy' with a knowing look. Whether she thought it was no more than Pete having a stupid crush or had worked out more, he wasn't sure.

"Hey." Pete caught his hand as they were about to leave. Patrick turned to him, eyes wide. Pete's response was to kiss him, Patrick leaning back against the wall. Only a few seconds. Compulsive. Easy. How he'd spent years telling himself it would never be with a guy. It was weird, not overthinking everything with _what if my meds don’t work anymore and I'm having another episode?_ or _what if he hates me after I do this?_ It was his first real relationship since middle school. Not counting multiple stupid 'oh _sure_ I'll meet you in the park' incidents with guys from school who only wanted one thing from him.

It was nice to be past that.

"Okay, let's go."

On the drive back to Patrick's house, they sang along to music. It was still light out- today was the last day of April, so the sun was setting later and later each day. The journey started out with Pete shouting lyrics by himself, Patrick joining in quietly after a few songs. Pete went quiet so he could hear Patrick, who didn't notice at first. He had an amazing voice; the sort Pete knew he would never have. Patrick stopped as soon as he realized the silence.

"You told me you couldn't sing," Pete commented as he turned a corner.

"I can carry a tune. I wouldn't call that singing."

"You're joking."

"What do you mean?"

Pete rolled his eyes. "You're too modest." He glanced over at Patrick, who shook his head. The conversation ended there.

After that, it wasn't long before they reached the top of Patrick's street, where he told Pete to stop. "It's close enough, I'll walk the rest of the way," he added.

"See you Monday," Pete said as Patrick picked up his bag and moved to get out of the car. Patrick turned back and smiled, his hand coming to rest on top of Pete's for a second. As quickly as that had happened, he was moving away again, stepping out of the opened door into the still-cold evening air. Pete waited until he'd walked out of sight before he drove off. Back home, to another evening of watching trash television and not moving for two hours.

But instead, he'd only been home for about fifteen minutes when his phone started to ring. At first, he was cautious about answering. Nobody ever phoned him except his mom, and she was in the room with him. Probably a scam call. He picked his phone up to check. His mom muted the television. He hadn't paid attention to what it had been.

_Patrick (mobile)_

Dread was creeping over him now. Irrational, but sending chills over his body. Patrick never called. Ever. He found it too awkward. Always texted and waited for a reply, even if it was urgent. There was no room in Pete's panic-filled mind for the idea that it might not be a bad thing. What had happened? Had he relapsed and gone too deep? Gotten hurt walking back home? Too many possibilities. They filled his head.

Breath shaking, he picked up the call.

Patrick didn't speak. Just the sound of sobbing. Then, voice thick with tears, he mumbled, "Please help."


	20. Watch The World Cave In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh sorry  
> Title song: "The Reaper", As It Is

**_Part 2- After_ **

Patrick was staring at the outside of his house.

At first, he wasn't sure what about it was making him uneasy. Then he noticed his parents' cars outside. To most kids, this wouldn't be a shock. Not with his family. Both of his parents worked long, unpredictable hours, but one thing that was consistent was that they were never home this early. An excuse to not have to eat together, he'd guessed.

Patrick went to check the time on his phone, then remembered he'd left it inside this morning. He'd been in a rush- slept through his alarm and had only been woken up by his dad slamming the door. Instead, he looked at his watch. Seven-thirty p.m. He was half an hour before his curfew. Nothing to worry about. He tried the door. Unlocked. Another weird thing. It was always locked, even when people were home.

In the house, it was silent. That wasn't unusual in itself. After a big fight like last night, his parents would live in icy quiet. Ignoring each other, searching for ammunition for the next time one of them wanted an argument. It was the _type_ of silence that was scary. That hush that fell when somebody walked in on a conversation.

His parents didn't have conversations. Not anymore.

"Come in here," his dad said. The tension was creeping up his body. _It's probably about camp. Or they're splitting up._ The idea was comforting. Maybe they'd realized breaking their church guidelines on divorce wasn't a bad idea when things were this messed up. When things got broken and the neighbors came over to see if everything was 'okay' and Patrick didn't eat dinner because he couldn't face going downstairs and cooking with that in the background.

He walked into the kitchen. It felt smaller. Like the light-blue walls with peeling paint were closing in on him. As soon as he saw it, his brain stopped working.

His mom was holding his phone.

_You have a passcode on it, it's okay. It's going to be a talk about being irresponsible and you apologize and it's all okay._

She was staring at him. "Explain." Turned his phone on and showed him the lockscreen.

He was about to be sick.

One notification.

_Pete: i love you too_

Oh God.

His hands were shaking as he took the phone from his mom and tried to think of an excuse. Anything that could be an escape. _Oh God oh God._ There wasn't an excuse, not one that he could see. Even if he did lie, something like this would happen again and he'd have to deal with it then. So he took the biggest risk of his life.

"He's my boyfriend."

He wasn't even sure if that was true. Him and Pete had never discussed it. 'Boyfriend' was the easiest word to explain what was going on between them. And he was (literally) praying that his parents would see something worth saving. That they pushed aside their views for him. Their only son who had never done anything bad before, who tried to make them happy. Who was trying to make sense of it all himself.

He closed his eyes, waiting for a response. He wasn't expecting the one he got.

A slap in the face.

The shock made him jump back. Unsure which of his parents it had been, he wasn't sure where to turn. It stung. He felt his stomach twist.

"You have one minute to pack you stuff and <b> **get out of this house!** </b>" This wasn't real. Bad dream. Something.

Still, he ran upstairs. Took his bag off his back and stared grabbing clothes. What were you meant to take with you? What was the most important? His room was messed up. Papers thrown across the floor. It hadn't been him. His parents. Searching for evidence. He was frozen. Then his dad shouting for him to "get down the stairs. Now!" Grabbed his bag and ran back down. His thoughts were racing. No time to process anything that was happening. "Don't you dare come back, you dirty queer. Faggot."

Those two words that had caused him so much pain over the years. Hearing them from his parents, relatives, people at church. Age twelve, he'd cut a 'Q' into his thigh. A few months after he'd first taken up that coping mechanism. It hadn't scarred, unlike many others. The only time he'd tried to write anything on himself in that way and it had been that. That word. Now he was having it called after him as he was forced out of his home.

He walked to the curb and sat down. Stared at the houses opposite for a few seconds.

And burst into tears.

Once he'd started crying, he was unable to stop. Silent, shaking sobs, taking over his body and his breath and everything. The panic, too. His heart was racing and he was going to be sick and he was dying. It felt like dying. He was ruined. He took off his glasses to wipe his eyes and tried to calm his gasping breaths. Being sat there, on that stupid pristine street with the perfect houses and shiny cars and nuclear families, looking so out of place was a big risk. He needed to move somewhere.

He had his phone. Phone and schoolbooks and whatever clothes he'd taken. Who could he call? Of course, his first thought was to Pete. It made sense for it to be him. Less explaining to do. He understood. His hands were shaking as he tapped Pete's contact. He had no idea how long it had been since he'd dropped Patrick off. Maybe he was still driving home and wasn't going to pick up.  As he held it to his ear, sound of his phone ringing made him flinch. No answer. _Please._

Then Pete picked up and it hit him again. What he was calling to tell him. And he started to cry again. He covered his mouth, trying to stop Pete from hearing. He didn't need Pete knowing how weak he was. "Please help," he forced out, the tears choking his speech.

"What's wrong?" Pete's soft voice, so unlike how he usually spoke, made him start crying even harder. "Patrick, please speak to me."

"My parents." Saying it would make it more real. "They threw me out."

There was silence from Pete. "I'm so sorry, fuck…" he trailed off. "Do you want me to come and get you?"

"Yes please." Normally, he'd feel bad about asking for help from anyone. But now he didn't care.

"Where are you?"

"Outside my house."

"And is it safe for you to stay there?" Pete was being so methodical about this.

Patrick turned to stare back at the house. They were shouting again. Arguing about him this time. "I think so."

"Okay. Call me if you need to move. I'll be there as soon as I can." A beep as Pete hung up the phone. Patrick sat and stared at the road again. He'd stopped crying. That was some relief. _Always a stupid crybaby._ His dad had shouted at him when he was younger because everything upset him. He'd learned to hide it- usually. Not now. It was impossible to contain.

He sat and waited for Pete. Every noise made him jump, scared it was his parents. Coming outside to shout at him to get away. It never was. He wasn't sure if he wanted it to be them. As soon as he'd left, it seemed like they'd forgotten he'd existed. He was so, so worthless.

He didn't know how long it took before Pete's car drove up. He forced himself to stand up before it got too close. Couldn't move any further. One strap of his backpack was clenched in his hand. Pete got out of the car and walked over. "I'll take your bag." Patrick shook him off and sat down in the car, dropping it at his feet. Pete glanced over at him. "Patrick…"

"Don't."


	21. Sleeping In Your Car

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He doesn't deserve this I'm sorry  
> Title song: "Floral and Fading", Pierce The Veil

For the most part, the drive to Pete's house was hushed. Patrick stared straight ahead. Desperately trying to process everything. It wasn't working.

At one point, Pete spoke. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, his voice shattering the silence. Patrick didn't reply. He couldn't bring himself to open his mouth. Pete sighed. Was it a fed-up sort of sigh? Was he already sick of having Patrick with him? At this point, nothing seemed like overanalyzing. After what had happened. Pete's knuckles were white on the steering wheel. No music played. The glow of houses filled by happy families blurred past. He'd been on torturous car journeys before and this was worse than any of them.

When the car pulled up at Pete's house, Patrick forgot where he was for a second. Long enough for him to stay sat in the car, frozen, while Pete got out and opened the door for him. Patrick blinked and moved to unbuckle his seatbelt. Pete took his bag, ignoring his attempt at an objection. "You need a hand?"

"I'm fine." It was freezing outside. It wasn't meant to be this cold. Why was he shivering? Patrick stumbled, and Pete caught him. Wrapped an arm around his shoulders. He was too tired to shrug him off. So instead, he leaned into Pete, letting him hold him up. He didn't know how to walk. Didn't know anything anymore.

Before, Patrick had liked Pete's house. It was smaller than his (not by much) and it seemed more like a home. Like people lived there and wanted to, rather than wanting to escape. Some sort of kindness he hadn't realized was an actual thing. Reality rather than a bad novel's stereotyping. Now it felt terrifying.

Pete opened the door of his house. Patrick still felt cold as they stepped inside. Maybe it was him, not the world. It was always warm in Pete's house.

"You got him?" Pete's mom was waiting by the stairs. She looked worried. Please don't worry about me. He hated that idea. That he could make anybody feel worse, even if they had the best intentions.

"Yeah." That was one of the things Patrick had always found weird whenever he went to Pete's. The informality. He'd been raised calling his parents sir and ma'am, using proper English at all times. Never mumbling or slouching. The norm with the strict Christians he'd been surrounded by growing up. Some of his friends here found it hilarious, the way he spoke to adults. It had saved him so many times, though.

Just not now.

Pete pulled Patrick a little closer to him. He wondered if it was obvious that he'd been crying. Normally, he was good at hiding it, but he hadn't had any time to wash his face or anything. That was what he chose to focus on. A distraction of sorts. Pete said something that he didn't hear. It was that weird sensation again, like he was watching everything happen from behind a thick sheet of glass. Unable to hear or react to anything. Everything had an almost dreamlike quality to it. He felt Pete nudge him and they were walking again, up the stairs and into Pete's room. Pete told him to lie down. It took him a while to process it before he did, taking his glasses off and clutching them in his fist because he didn't know what to do with them.

Everything was distant. Not part of the same world he was in. Lying there, staring out into Pete's room, he wanted to feel something. He should be hurting. Why wasn't he hurting? Instead, he felt empty. Numb. Like something had snapped.

He kept losing time. It slipped past without him noticing. The bright-green LED clock told him it was 10:01pm. How long had it been now? Three and a half hours as an estimate. A long time. Too long. He wanted it to be fixed by now. Brokenbrokenbroken.

"You should get some sleep." Patrick flinched. It had been so long since either of them had spoken. The sound shocked him as much as his parents' yelling a few hours ago. "Stay in my room, if you want." Patrick didn't want to leave. He hated himself for it but being around Pete was comforting. Someone was protecting him, at least. So he nodded and stayed where he was. He was expecting Pete to leave it, instead- "I have spare pajamas, you want them?" He did, but he felt bad accepting. He mumbled a quiet refusal. "You sure? Don't say no because you feel like you have to."

It was easier to back down. "Okay." Pete got up and rummaged in one of his drawers, before walking back and handing Patrick the clothes. Patrick's hands were visibly shaking as he sat up and took them.

"You can change in the bathroom." Standing up was strange. He'd been lying there for so long. He left the room, walked down the dark corridor. Changed in the bathroom with the lights off, eyes shut. He was never willing to see himself, particularly his arms and thighs. How he'd destroyed them. Or, on the days he was being nicer to himself, how what he'd been forced to think had destroyed him. He was meant to be a week clean tomorrow, he remembered. If he was able to find any way to ruin that, he would. On top of everything else, it was too much to try and deal with. He needed a release.

He went back to Pete's room and dropped his clothes in a corner. Pete had pulled the comforter back for him to lie down, tucking it over him when he did. One tiny act of kindness was enough to make him feel like crying again. He squeezed his eyes tight shut.

"Do you want the light off?"

"I can sleep with it on."

He woke up two times in the night.

That might not have been much for some people, but it was for Patrick. Sleeping was one thing he was good at. He passed out then woke up the next morning and that was it. Not that night.

When Pete turned out the light so he could sleep was what must have been the first time. The sudden drop in brightness was enough to wake him up. Pete's breaths betrayed that he was awake. He wondered about talking to him. Asking for a hug, some reassurance, anything. He didn't, though. Instead, he lay there, watching the shadows on the walls until he was tired again.

The second time had no reason. He awoke slowly this time, a haze of sleep convincing him that he was home and it must be the next morning and nothing had happened. A few seconds into that illusion and it hit him. It was three in the morning and he wasn't home and everything was ruined. It was like it was happening all over again, the fear and the words they'd said starting to run around his head. He was stuck back there. Everything that had happened over the years. All the hate he'd been forced to hear was attacking him right here.

He was crying and shaking and mouthing prayers with each trembling breath. Over three years ago, he'd realized he was agnostic, but the idea that God was going to save him was too far ingrained into his psyche. Even though following their logic meant that what had happened was what a God would have wanted.

He'd done his best to stay quiet, yet Pete still woke up, mumbling, "you okay?" as he rolled over.

"Sorry, sorry-"

"'s okay, c'mere." His words were slurred by sleep. Patrick turned over to face him and Pete put both his arms around him. Pulling him close. "It's okay. You'll be okay," he whispered. They lay like that, Pete holding him as he sobbed. Finally he calmed down. Pete's arms relaxed around him as he fell back asleep. Leaving Patrick alone again.


	22. Stay Awake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a lot longer but I was away all weekend so this is all I've had time for. Take it, I guess  
> Title song: "Stay Awake (Dreams Only Last For A Night)", All Time Low

When he woke up, it didn't so much hit him again as it did seep into his mind. He kept his eyes closed. If he didn't open them, then it was a bad dream. Not real. It was easy to keep telling himself these tiny lies, searching for anything to keep him going. There were things pushing last night to the forefront of his mind, though, as much as he tried to ignore them. Pete's shirt against his cheek, arms wrapped around him still. And that horrible headachy feeling from crying so much. Tiredness weighing him down, even as he lay there. He didn't want to move from this safety as much as he wanted to run and run and never come back.

"Hi," Pete whispered. Patrick rolled away, moving to the edge of the bed. "How're you feeling?"

"I don't know." Half truth, half lie. It was like having a deep cut hidden under a bandage- you're aware it's there, but you're too scared to check under the dressing because you don't want to know how bad it really is. So long as he ignored his emotions, Patrick had decided, it would be better. "What's the time?"

"Quarter to eight. I was trying not to wake you, but I get up early."

"It's fine. I do too." He closed his eyes again. No hope of getting back to sleep, though. All he wanted was for this to go away. 'This' meaning everything. Even Pete.

"I'm going downstairs for breakfast, you want to come with me?"

Patrick moved his legs so Pete didn't have to climb over him. "I'm not hungry."

"Okay, you have to eat at some point."

"Sure."

Pete stopped in the doorway, phone in hand. "Do you want to tell people?"

Patrick shook his head. "I want to see if it blows over first." He was still hoping. It had been less than a day, after all. They had to see sense. Loving your son had to be more important than keeping everything perfect. Pete nodded and gave him this sad smile that betrayed his feelings. He didn't think it was likely. _He must be wrong. Please let him be wrong._

When Pete had left, Patrick got out of bed and started rummaging through his bag. He didn't feel able to get dressed. The disgust he directed towards himself seemed to have multiplied by ten times overnight. Instead, he took out his calculus textbook and some paper. Sat on the floor and started his homework. It was easy enough. Math was like that for him. Since he was a kid, he'd taken comfort in having this one thing that was doable. He worked through question after question. Pete came back after a while. His hair was still sticking up from sleeping and Patrick hated thinking it was cute. He shouldn't be noticing these sorts of things. Not now.

"Give yourself a break," Pete told him. "Take a day off doing your work, you're tired as fuck." Patrick wasn't a fan of being confronted with this particular truth and chose to ignore it.

"I need to focus on something." As he said that, there was a knock on the door and Pete's mom walked in. Patrick stood up. An automatic reaction.

"How are you?" Patrick shrugged and stared at the floor. The carpet was striped, different shades of gray. "Can you give me one of your parents' phone numbers? I'll talk to them," she offered, Patrick condemning himself once again for intruding in their lives. This shouldn't have to happen. He kept that to himself, instead reciting his mom's number. She'd made him memorize it when he was a kid, 'in case you get lost'. He was lost now. Pete's mom recited it back to him to check it was correct. He nodded and she left, leaving him with Pete again, who gestured for him to come and sit on the bed. Stillness again. Pete attempted to engage him in conversation. Gave up after a few tries.

Patrick watched the clock the whole time. He'd tried to listen in to the conversation, but she'd moved away from the door after a few seconds. When Pete's mom came back in, it had been seven minutes since she'd left. She hesitated. Then gave him this look. It wasn't a look of _everything is fine now, you'll get to go home and pretend nothing happened._ More like pity. Like the next words out of her mouth were going to be-

"I'm sorry." The room was spinning. "She said… I don't want to repeat it. They won't take you back at the moment." Pete's mom kept talking, but the words were passing over him. The rushing sound was in his ears again. Suddenly she'd left and Patrick was hugging his knees to his chest, shaking so hard that he doubted that he'd be able to speak if he tried. When had this started? He hadn't noticed it and now it was so bad he was unable to breathe. Again.

Pete was talking to him. "I'm going to talk you through breathing, okay?" Except it wasn't in his control, or at least that was how it seemed. Everything was racing and he had to gasp for air. Still no tears. It was a long time before he'd calmed down enough to be able to form coherent sentences. Pete had stayed the whole time, helping him slow down. Patrick wanted to thank him. He didn't. "Can my mom come back?"

"Okay." His voice sounded weak. Watery. Pete called out, the sound making him jump.

She came back in, looking more composed this time. None of the emotions. Patrick forced himself to not space out as she told him what had happened. They didn't want him back. After what Patrick assumed must have been some sort of debate, they'd agreed to let him send somebody to collect his things. Not him or Pete or Pete's mom: it had to be someone else. That was non-negotiable. "They aren't allowed to do this, are they?" Pete asked, his voice higher than usual.

"No, but…" She winced. "I don't think it's safe for Patrick to go back there for a while."


	23. Better Left Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof  
> Title song: ".stage 4 fear of trying.", frnkiero andthe cellabration

He couldn't get over it. He wasn't allowed back in his own home. "At least they're letting you get your stuff. I know it's not great none of us can go, but…" Pete was trying, really trying, and that stung.

"If they'd said they didn't want any gay people we'd be screwed though, right?" Pete didn't laugh. Patrick didn't blame him: it wasn't funny (though trying to defuse situations with humor was a habit he'd picked up from Pete). Despite that, there was some truth in it. All the people Patrick trusted enough to do something like this were… inclined towards guys to some degree. He hated the word 'gay', most of all when it was in the context of him being it. The way he'd heard it being said when he was younger had made him unable to say it without feeling sick. How it was spat out, disgust filling the voice of whoever said it. Or, even worse, the laugh, the eye roll, how it became another joke that never had good intentions. All before he'd known it was a word that technically applied to him. That was going to ruin his life.

"You can stay here as long as you need to," Pete said instead of replying.

"I don't want to be an inconvenience-"

"You aren't." Pete moved like he was going to touch his arm but pulled back. "As long as you need somewhere, you have here. My mom's told you as much and I will too." Patrick didn't have the strength to argue. Anyway, he might not have to stay here much longer. If it all calmed down in a few weeks…

There was a long silence before Patrick thought of something. "Dallon could do it," he said slowly. "You know, Ryan's friend. I'm on a group chat with him. He's from a religious family so he'd know how to act around them, and I think he's free…"

"Okay, try him."

Patrick was too scared to phone him, so he sent a text instead. _Can you do me a favor?_

His reply was almost instant. _sure, what is it?_

_I need someone to collect my things from my parents' house._

_are you okay?_

It felt impossible to bring himself to admit what had happened. _It doesn't matter. I'm at Pete's now._

_okay, tell me what you need and the address of there + pete's and i'll go as soon as i can_

There was some understanding from him. No more questions.

"He can go."

"Okay, I'll go and tell my mom."

As soon as Pete had left, Patrick started to compile his list. At least it wasn't hard to know what to ask Dallon to get. He didn't have anything of sentimental value. When he sent the- admittedly very short- list to Dallon, the response he got was _is that all?_ It was weird, reducing his life to some things that would all fit together in one bag. A good representation of how it was. He hadn't made any memories like that on purpose. Reducing the amount his parents were aware of about his social life. He didn't have a single friend that they'd approve of. It was easier to think about them like it still mattered what they knew and what they didn't. He still wanted to be faultless child they'd wanted him to be.

Pete stayed next to him. Didn't try and push him for information or how he was feeling. All he did was keep him company and that was what Patrick needed. He didn't have the strength to thank him. Turns out having a breakdown in the middle of the night was kind of exhausting. Not like it was the first time that had happened, more that everything that had happened with it made it worse.

There was a knock at the door and Pete looked over at him. Patrick didn't get up- he knew it was Dallon and he couldn't bear his sympathy. Dallon was a nice person and that was the issue. He'd try too hard. Pete took the hint and got up instead, leaving Patrick with a pit in his stomach. _So lazy relying on everyone to do things for you can't do anything right-_ Pete's mom shouted something down the stairs to Pete and Patrick flinched. "Yeah, it's him," Pete called back. Patrick still didn't go down. Eventually, he heard the door close and a few seconds later, Pete came upstairs. He was holding a carryall which Patrick vaguely recognized as his own. It wasn't as empty as he'd been expecting. Pete sat down next to him and placed the bag in front of him. Delicately, like something inside it was going to shatter. Even though it wasn't- the one semi-fragile thing in there was his laptop, and he'd dropped that on the floor more times than he could count.

Pete sat with him as he went through his things. Patrick kind of wished he wasn't there. Didn't say anything. It wasn't important what was there anyway. Not like his parents were going to let anyone back if Dallon had missed something. He'd put a few extra things in that Patrick hadn't asked for. Like his drumsticks. Patrick was glad about that; it meant he could practice in school. God, he was going to have to go to school on Monday and pretend nothing had happened. Sit in his classes and take notes and do his work with the knowledge that he didn't have a home to go to at the end of the day.

In one of the side pockets was a folded piece of paper. Patrick didn't remember having anything in there, so he opened it. _Oh._ It was the drawing Pete had given him for his birthday. At the time, it had felt like the nicest thing anyone had ever done for him; one of those moments where Patrick was shocked by how much Pete cared. It had only been a few days ago that everything had felt so okay. He'd been so close to happiness he'd practically been able to touch it. The paper had been crumpled since then, despite what seemed like Dallon's best efforts to smooth it out. He wondered if his parents had found it. If they'd gone through his room, searching for any evidence. He hadn't been paying attention yesterday. He guessed he'd never know.

Tears were burning at the corners of his eyes again. He shoved the paper back into the pocket. When he looked away, he saw Pete watching him, trying to conceal the hurt on his face.


	24. Am I A Liar?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Semi filler to pause the bad stuff happening to Patrick... for a chapter  
> Title song: "I Like America & America Likes Me", The 1975

Patrick had been sat on the floor for the whole day. His back ached from hunching over his books. Now he'd finished all his work, he wasn't sure what to do. Pete had hovered near him all day, doing homework too. Patrick was pretty sure he'd had plans with a few people today. He'd cancelled them for him.

After Dallon had been over, Patrick had sent a brief message to a groupchat with his friends on. _My parents threw me out and I'm staying with Pete. Don't talk to me about it at school tomorrow, I want to get on with life._ Somehow, it'd looked an inadequate explanation, despite being all he was willing to say. As soon as he'd sent it, he'd turned off his phone and pushed it across the room. He didn't want to know what his friends were going to say- however compassionate and well-meaning.

"Are you gonna come down for dinner?" Patrick shook his head. "Listen, I know it's hard, but you need to eat-"

"I will tomorrow." He forced himself to stare back at Pete, challenging him to disagree. The issue wasn't that he wasn't hungry anymore- it all felt like too much. Overwhelming. Going and sitting downstairs with Pete and his mom, ruining their otherwise normal conversation by being there because it was all going to feel too awkward. There was no way he'd do that.

Pete hesitated, biting his lip. "I don't think it's a good idea." Patrick shrugged. "Okay, I- I'll bring you up some water. You have to eat tomorrow." He sighed. "Fuck. I'm not happy with this, but I know the first few days after something like this, they're a struggle." It took Patrick a second to remember how Pete could speak from experience. Then it hit him. The attack, his attempt. Actual real bad things that people were hurt by, not being an idiot and leaving their phone out where anybody can see it. There was no way he'd see it as anything other than his fault. _I don't deserve to be allowed to be upset. I screwed up and that's all there is to it._ He didn't want to voice any of this out loud in case Pete tried to persuade him otherwise.

Immediately after Pete had gone downstairs, Patrick wanted him back. Clingy? Perhaps. But Pete was the only stability in his life at the moment. He hated needing somebody so badly. It was how he'd felt with Pete from the start, a terrifying compulsion that he didn't want. He stayed away, waiting until Pete came back. Smiled at him. The one comfort in the worst of days.

He woke up at seven on the dot the next morning. If he'd been at home, this would have been the time he'd be getting up for church. It was impossible for him to fall back asleep- he'd awoken with a jolt and his brain had started racing. The same thoughts chasing round and round, again and again. So he lay there in silence, unmoving, so he didn't wake Pete up. Maybe he'd sleep in the spare room tomorrow night. Pete didn't want him here anyway, all he did was be an annoyance.

When Pete woke up, he stretched his arm out and Patrick felt his palm press against his back. It didn't feel forceful, more like a reassurance. Though any sort of contact would feel the same to him. He'd felt starved of touch for so long, since he was a kid. Some days it made him ache and this was one of them. Pete pulled his hand back, sighing.

"You sleep any better last night?" Truth was, he hadn't. He'd spent half the night staring at the wall, the blurred shapes of the objects around him after a while seeming to move around his head. He told Pete he had. In these situations, it was always better to lie.

"You're gonna come down to breakfast with me, aren't you?" His stomach had started to ache from hunger- what must have been half the reason he'd been unable to sleep. It wasn't possible to say no. He got up with Pete, pulled on a hoodie and followed him down the stairs- the first time he'd left the top floor of the house in over twenty-four hours.

The first thing Pete did was walk over to the cupboard, take out his meds and dry swallow a pill. He caught Patrick looking, who turned away, embarrassed. He never knew how to act- it was impossible to know what would be making too big a deal out of it.

"I have an alarm set on my phone for the day my insomnia gives me a day off and lets me sleep in. I'm so paranoid, I'd never risk missing a dose." He sounded like he was making a joke of it, but Patrick saw his genuine fear. _I get that._ Needing to keep everything in order so badly.

"Why don't you take them later?"

"Any later and I'd have to take my morning meds in school in the week. I take them half an hour earlier than I do on weekends now, and it needs to be near enough the same time every day." An unspoken acknowledgement that he didn't want anyone at school to see. To have those questions. "People are still scared of it," he added softly, staring at the floor. It was a rare moment of vulnerability from him, dropping the 'I don't care' act for a second. Then he laughed. Laughed it off, pretending it was nothing. "I'll stop being all self-pitying now. What do you want to eat?" Patrick didn't answer. Shrugged and refused to meet Pete's gaze. "We have cereal, toast-"

"Do you have coffee?"

"Yeah, we do." Pete looked relieved he'd asked for something. "That can't be all you have, though."

"I know."

"Good." A long, drawn-out silence followed, mimicking the night of the drive. _The_ night. Over a day ago. Patrick looked around the room: clean, light, calm. The reverse of how he thought everything should be. Nothing looked ruined as much as everything was.


	25. You Know Too Much

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sort of graphic scene TW I guess?  
> Also I have no idea how much longer to make this because in my head it goes on for,, a long time  
> Title song: "City In A Garden", Fall Out Boy

Monday was hideous. Having to go into school and see all his friends, their pity, wasn't manageable. When they thought he wasn't looking, they stared at him. It scared him that they knew something was wrong. Before, he'd been able to hide it, but he couldn't escape this. Neither by hiding it from them or by denying it to himself. He hadn't wanted to ask for lunch from Pete's mom, so at lunchtime he went and stayed in the music room. Mostly played drums the whole time, with breaks in between of random spacing out and staring at the walls.

Outside school at the end of the day, Pete stopped walking. "Fuck, I forgot I have to get the bus to therapy. You okay to get home by yourself if I give you my keys?"

"Sure. I'll call Gerard if I get lost."

Pete ignored his sarcasm. "Okay. Get back safe," and he seemed to mean it seriously.

He had his music turned up to full the whole walk back. It made his head ache but meant it was impossible to think. To feel any guilt about what he was going to do now. Anyone would see he had no choice, he told himself. There were limited ways to escape in this world and he took what he could get.

He heard the door click shut behind him. He walked upstairs. Tense and barely breathing despite being alone. In Pete's room, he went through his bag. There was a moment's panic where he thought he might have remembered it wrong. But no, they were there. A small case of disposable razor blades. It was easy to hide them in plain sight as a guy, and this was proof. Dallon had had no idea that these ones were different.

Nobody had ever known, which was the incredible thing. You spend all of middle school getting called fat and people will put a lot of things down to 'self-consciousness'. And it never crossed anyone's mind that he might do it. Even Pete had been shocked, and he'd… been there.

All this ran through his mind as he sat on the bathroom floor. Uncomfortable and cold. Turned the blade between his fingers. Like he'd change his mind.

He pressed it so hard into his skin. Starting on his thighs then moving to over his hipbones when it didn’t hurt enough. Making cuts then going over them. Again and again. Pulling the skin apart. Blood beaded on his skin before beginning to seep over his skin. _This is how you destroy yourself._ His scars made him feel nauseous, but he wasn't going to stop making new ones. It wasn't beautiful, it had never been beautiful. He hadn't known anyone thought that until recently. It was age twelve, forcing his dad's razor down both arms as hard as he could while crying and gasping for air. His first panic attack, though he hadn't known it at the time. It had left him with his worst scars, thick and diagonal. He was more careful now. Kept to his thighs in panic attacks so there wasn't the danger of hitting the arteries that he saw under the translucent skin of his wrists.

He'd prefer to be on his arms at that moment. It was easier to bleed, hurt more. More risky too, though. It was easier to hide from Pete here- no risk of a sleeve falling back in his sleep. Or reacting to the pain of somebody touching his arm. Pete would be so disappointed if he found out. Patrick imagined it: the way he'd try and hide his grimace, leaning back a little, eyes widening. If he was going to keep doing this, he had to protect Pete from it. That was what he saw it as. Protecting.

When he heard the door open downstairs, he was immediately hyperalert again before realizing that it must be Pete. Patrick heard him coming up the stairs. Then he was standing at the doorway and something was obviously off. Patrick's first thought was whether he'd done something stupid- left his razors out or something. Pete was twisting his fingers together. "Patrick."

"Yeah?"

He sighed. "Look, I- I'm real sorry but…" he rubbed his palms together. "I told my therapist that I- well, that I'm worried about you. And I think she's going to call my mom. I'm really sorry…"

Patrick didn't know what to say. Everything was collapsing, bit by bit. All he'd tried to hide- exposed. Forced out. "It's fine," he whispered, the only way for Patrick to control the shaking he was sure there'd be in his voice.

"Are you sure? I know I screwed up, I should have thought about what she'd do-"

"It's fine. Really."

Pete hesitated before nodding. "If you say so." Patrick knew he should be angry to some degree. It didn't feel like there was a point to it. No reason to fight. Things happened, sometimes.

During dinner, Pete's mom got a phone call. The way she looked down at it then straight up at Pete told Patrick all he needed to know. She left the room. Patrick had to resist the urge to leave the room. Not just the room- the house, the neighborhood, the city. He couldn't face this. What he'd done, what he did and what he was going to do. She came back after a few minutes and didn't say anything until the end of the meal. "Patrick, can you wait?" she asked when he stood to follow Pete. "You can sit back down." Patrick became aware that he was bouncing his leg and forced himself to keep still. "Has Pete told you what this is about?"

"He has."

"That makes things a bit easier." She watched him for a reaction before continuing. "Pete's therapist told me he's worried about you hurting yourself." It was so blunt, the way she put it. So simple. The same way you'd talk about what homework you had for class the next day. "Is he right to think that?"

He'd guessed that was what it must have been. As far as he understood (which was a limited amount), therapists could only break confidentiality when somebody's safety was at risk. And with how bad he was, that was an easy assumption. He wasn't aware of how much Pete had worked out- the scars he'd seen, though, were an indicator of what happened when Patrick spiraled. Which he'd been on the edge of since Friday, like standing with your feet half-over a cliff edge. He'd known he was going to fall, it'd been a matter of time. This was the worst time for a conversation like this to happen; his thighs still ached from earlier. Stung if he moved the slightest bit. The earlier leg bouncing had most definitely _not_ been a good idea.

The way he explained that to Pete's mom? "I don't know."

She had that same look on her face Pete got sometimes. _That_ look. "Listen, Patrick-" and started talking about school counseling, how she was going to call them tomorrow and see if they had any free spaces. He nodded in all the right places. _Okay of course that's fine with me._


	26. I Don't Believe In You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next month it's going to be a year since I started writing this lmao  
> Title song: "DESTROYA", My Chemical Romance

"Do you know why you're here?"

That was the first question the school counselor sat opposite him in the small office asked him. It was his first session, three days after Pete's mom had found out. Half an hour during his lunch period. It was better then, taking away the stress of catching up on missed class. Falling behind was one of his biggest fears. He had to be perfect at everything or there wasn't a point.

The counselor was watching him. Her name was Jane Campbell, if he remembered it right. Like the soup. That was what he'd chosen to focus on. She was waiting for an answer, he realized, by the way the silence felt. He couldn't get the words out. Didn't want to try. Admitting it wasn't an option. Not saying it made him feel weak but saying it would, too.

"You don't want to say?" _I ruin my body because I can't deal with emotions and my parents hate me and threw me out._ He shook his head. "Okay. One of your friends is worried about you harming yourself after your parents threw you out, is what I've been told." Patrick felt like he was being choked. If she knew about his parents, then it wouldn't be hard for her to guess about… well, about _that._ The last thing he wanted was more people knowing. "Do you want to talk about what happened with them?"

"It just happened, I guess."

She nodded. "You weren't expecting it?" He stared at the floor again. Checked carpet, for some reason. Black and white. It hurt his eyes looking at it for too long. He'd been doing too much of the whole refusing-to-meet-people's-eyes thing recently. He reminded himself of the characters in the awful young-adult books he'd read when he was younger because they were the cheapest to buy on his phone. Have to hide your entire life from your parents? Get everything with gift cards.

He still hadn't told Pete what had happened. All he knew was what Patrick had said on that phone call. Enough to get him to pick him up. Nothing more. It was eating him up inside, though, locking it up. His panic attacks were getting worse again, at least one every day. Which meant cutting every day, too. His body hurt.

As much as he felt this, he shut down more with every question Jane asked him. To the point where he wasn't saying a word, only nodding or shaking his head. She must have noticed, because she stopped talking and asked him if he was okay. "Yes," he managed, a whisper. She changed the subject.

"About the self-harm, then…" He must have winced, because she smiled at him. "How long has this been an issue for you?" One of the worst questions she could have asked. He'd only told Pete in an attempt to show him how- how he wasn't going to stop, or something.

"How easy would it be for you to stop, do you think?"

"I don’t know. I've never really tried." She nodded, expression blank. He hated that. He needed to be able to read people. In situations like this it was even more important, because he was saying so much about himself. And being so open to a complete stranger went against every defence mechanism he'd learned growing up.

At the end of the session, she gave him a notebook. He had to track his moods in it and write down any panic attacks or relapses and why they happened. "Find your own way of setting it out, I'm not going to make you do anything." They also agreed that he'd meet with her every Tuesday and Thursday lunchtime. Most people only got one session a week at most. Patrick didn't know what that said about his situation.

That half hour was easily one of the most difficult of his life. He had to think about things he liked to ignore, constructing a mental fence around them. Was it normal to feel worse after therapy? He'd never dealt with anything like this before. He wanted to go home and sleep.

Instead, he didn't even try and find his friends. He was so drained it wasn't like he'd talk to them anyway. The whole week he'd been avoiding everyone at lunch, so that nobody saw he didn't have lunch with him. He avoided Pete's mom in the mornings in case she noticed he hadn't been taking something like she'd said he could. He felt bad. And Pete was too distracted to notice. His stomach ached for hours before dinner, but to him it was worth it. To not be needy. He didn't practise any instruments today. Instead, he went and sat on the window ledge and leaned against the warm glass. The window ledges in this room were larger than usual, so that they could have cupboards underneath them. At one point, he'd sat here almost every lunchtime to eat. Until Pete had come here.

Nobody ever came into the music room at lunch. Technically, he wasn't supposed to be there, but the teacher liked him. Because he was quiet and played a few instruments, she let him do whatever he wanted. Including nothing. All he wanted right now was the silence, or as close as he was able to get to it in a school. He sat there until the bell rang for next period, making him flinch so hard he hit his elbow on the window. He existed in a haze for the rest of the day. Classes didn't feel real- nothing did. He took notes and did the minimum of functioning to scrape by.

"How was today?" Pete asked him as they were walking back to his house. There was an underlying meaning there. Leaving it open for Patrick to talk about his counseling if he wanted to. He didn't.

"Fine, how about you?" The exact same conversation they'd been having every day after school this past week. Patrick brushing him off whilst knowing Pete didn't believe a word he was saying.


	27. Where The Heart Is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if updates are even more spaced out than normal the next few weeks- I have exams coming up so I won't have internet access as much  
> Title song: "27", Fall Out Boy

Saturday. It had been a week yesterday. As every day went past, it seemed like the likelihood of Patrick ever going back got smaller. Everything here was alien, no shouting or cold, unbroken silences. Far from being the nice change it had been when he'd come over to Pete's house on Fridays, it was disconcerting. He missed the routine they'd fallen into with his parents' fights. Anticipated it, even. Doors opening, Pete's mom calling upstairs when she got home, Pete starting some music when they weren't talking- all made him jump.

That was why he'd decided to phone his parents today. Pete thought it was a bad idea and had said as much. But he'd still stayed in the room with Patrick- 'emotional support', he'd said in a semi-joking tone. Patrick felt his hands shaking as he tapped on his mom's contact.

_You have $0.00 remaining credit._

He stared at the screen for a few seconds, unable to comprehend. "I know I had some left, I never use it-" he stopped talking as it hit him. He turned to look at Pete and by the expression on his face, he'd come to the same conclusion.

"We'll deal with that later. Use mine." Patrick copied the number out from his phone, all the while wondering _what if they don't want to talk to me?_ As much as he wanted it to be irrational, it was creeping up on him. Why would they want to talk to him? All he'd done was be a disappointment. He wouldn't want to talk to himself either.

He hit the call button. Pete gave him a half-smile and Patrick returned it. The sudden noise of the phone ringing filled up the silence. She might not pick up. Everything was cold again-

It was his dad that picked up. "Who is it?" That was worse. He still didn't know which of them had hit him, but from overhearing his parents' worst fights it was more likely to have been him. Before then, he hadn't been hit since he was a kid- he'd learned fast how to stay out of trouble.

"Dad, it's me. I- I want to come home." His throat felt tight. Already about to cry? Pathetic. No wonder they didn't want him anymore.

"Don't call me that. You aren't my son." It stung. No, not stung- ripped through his body like a punch, a knife, bring pulled apart. There weren't words enough to describe how much pain hearing those words from his dad caused him. "And it's not your home." When he opened his mouth to speak again, all he heard was a gasp and he realized he was sobbing. With Pete sat right next to him. "You must have done so many disgusting things with that boy." _That boy._ It didn't matter who Pete was, only what he was. "Shame on you. You'll never come back from this."

"I haven't-"

"I don't care. I don't care what lies you want to say to pretend you didn't Don't try and contact this family again."

He felt like he was about to throw up, holding the phone so tight in front of him that it dug into his palms. Pete took it off him. Nothing felt worse than this. It was worse than last week because they'd had time to calm down and think again and their reaction was still the same. He disgusted them. He felt sick, like he should rip off his skin.

"I'm so sorry…"

Pete was probably going to hug him. He wasn't going to be able to bear that- he'd break down. "Leave me alone," he mumbled, voice watery.

Pete hesitated. "Are you sure?" Patrick nodded, willing him to go. He didn't want Pete to see him like this for any longer than he had to. Because the worst hadn't even happened yet, he could feel it. After a second, Pete got up and left. The sound of the door clicking shut was enough to set him off again. It always started the same. First, the shaking, starting in his hands and migrating through his body, taking over. Uncontrollable. He didn't cry this time. The panic froze him. No escape. He heard his own pathetic gasps as he searched for air. There wasn't any. It never seemed to be there when he needed it.

He lay there for so long afterwards. He'd had one arm tucked under his head that had gone numb. Kept drifting in and out of sleep, every time forcing himself awake. Each night's sleep was a version of that first night's: disturbed, restless. Sometimes he dreamed- more often than not, though, it was waking up with that impending sense of panic already on him.

What he really wanted was for Pete to come and hold him. How reassuring it was was one of those things he'd never thought about before him and Pete had started- whatever this was. Maybe it was because it was Pete, but he felt so much safer with him. Sometimes, when Pete could tell he was stressed or not having a good day, he'd rock him from side to side while they were curled up together, Pete leaning back against the wall and Patrick leaning on him. He missed that. It had been a week and he missed that. As all of this kept happening, what was playing on Patrick's mind was that Pete would get fed up of this new difficulty and leave.

He heard someone knock on the door and pushed himself up, rubbing at his eyes in an attempt to make it look like he wasn't quite as emotional as he was. It almost made him laugh- _I_ am _a mess._ The things you found funny when everything was going wrong were odd to say the least.

"Can I come in?" Pete asked.

"Yeah." It hurt to speak.

He resumed his position on Patrick's right. "When we said you can stay here as long as you need- it means for any length of time. As long as you need somewhere, you have here." In a way, that made him feel worse. That he needed somewhere. He'd been looking after himself long enough that he hated that concept of having to depend on somebody. The way he'd been depending on Pete for months. One of a long line of mistakes.


	28. Stay Out Of The Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Late as predicted... exams are next week so I'll be back on track after that! (also I kept Pete's mom's name as what it is in my MD rather than in real life)  
> Title song: "I Never Told You What I Do For A Living", My Chemical Romance

It was quiet on Sunday evening. Patrick had spent all day studying for his AP exam next week and ignoring everything else. Pete had left him alone until that moment.  
"Patrick?" Pete asked in a deliberate tone. Patrick looked up. "Have you been eating lunch at school?"  
Patrick was too shocked to reply for a second, which was all Pete needed. "I-"  
"Jesus." Patrick jumped. He didn't know why. "C'mon, we have to tell my mom-"  
"No, I know it was bad but-"  
"I'm not trying to get you in trouble." Pete put a hand on his knee. Despite everything, Patrick felt that dizzying attraction from it and he hated it. A reminder of why he'd been trying to keep away from Pete all week. "She needs to know because she's looking after you right now so it's her responsibility. I swear she won't shout or anything, if that's what you're worried about."  
There wasn't a way to get out of it, was there? "Okay."  
Patrick was still cautious around Pete's mom- less than he was around most adults, but still. She'd told him countless times to "call me Sarah" and he still referred to her (both in his head and out loud) as 'Pete's mom'. When he'd first met her, he'd called her "ma'am" and she'd found it hilarious. "I forgot how most of the parents where we used to live raised their kids." Patrick hadn't known how to react.  
"Are you busy?" Pete asked her. She looked up, pushing the laptop half-shut. The radio was playing in the background; one of those non-offensive acoustic songs that sounded a bit like lift muzak.  
"No, why?" Pete nudged him in the side. He knew he was meant to tell her- and he couldn't, he just couldn't. It overwhelmed him. He'd started to shake already. Again. He found himself sat on the floor, curled up in a ball, with no memory of getting there. The linoleum was cold.  
"Sorry, I'm sorry." his voice sounded broken, muffled as he pressed his face into his knees.  
"Hey," he heard Pete say. He didn't look up. "Tell me if you don't want me to touch you." Patrick stayed silent. After a pause, he felt Pete rest his arm across Patrick's shoulders, before pulling him in closer and wrapping his other arm around him too. It was the first time Pete had hugged him in over a week. Patrick shamelessly clung to him, leaning into his side. He'd been trying to ignore how much he needed something like this.  
He'd spent a lot of time before him and Pete had started their thing telling himself that stuff like this was stupid, that other people couldn't help. And maybe Pete hadn't fixed it all by being there, but he'd made it better.  
They were all sat on the floor together, he noticed, including Sarah.  
"You aren't in any trouble," she said. "I don't want you to be worried about that."  
"No?"  
Pete interjected. "Of course not." Sarah nodded, frowning.  
"No, it's more that I worry about why." Don't worry, please don't worry. I don't need anyone having to think about me. "It's not good for you to skip meals, I'm sure you know that." Patrick nodded. He felt Pete's arm tighten around him. "Is there any reason why?"  
"I didn't want to be any bother," Patrick whispered, the words scraping at his throat.  
"Needing to eat food isn't going to annoy anyone, who gave you that idea?" Age eleven, waiting up late for his parents to come home because he didn't know how to cook yet. The heavy sighs and rolled eyes as his mom went through the cupboards. Pointed remarks about how he needed to grow up at some point. So he'd eaten junk instead and become 'the fat kid' for the whole of middle school before he'd worked out how to make his own food.  
He shrugged. "Because I don't live here, I guess."  
"I know it's hard to get your head around all this. I need you to take yourself into consideration right now, though, not other people."  
"For real," Pete added, brushing his hand against Patrick's for a second before apparently deciding it wasn't a good idea.  
"I'm tired."  
"Understandable." The week had been a mess. He'd missed most of his afternoon classes on Friday due to a meeting with the school and someone from the state. They said they needed to make sure he was safe (yes) and whether he felt safe going back to his parents (no) and if Pete's mom was willing to house him (she'd said yes). Then it turned into complicated legal stuff- stupid bullshit, Pete would have said if he was there- he didn't have the energy to follow. Instead, he'd counted the ceiling tiles. Then started staring at the imperfections- a chunk missing from one, a stain on another.  
Sarah was talking and Patrick hated himself for spacing out again. It was becoming harder and harder to stay focused. Everywhere he went, it seemed like something was dragging him down. He used all his energy in class and crashed when he got back, refusing to let himself nap like he sometimes would have at home.  
"Pete, can you check he takes something every day this week? I'm not sure I'll have the time."  
"Sure, okay." Patrick stayed where he was, resting against Pete's side. "Hey, d'you want to get up now?"  
The only possible interpretation of this to him was that Pete had gotten fed up with him already. "Sorry," he mumbled, pushing himself up."  
"Stop saying sorry for shit you don't need to apologize for." Patrick expected Pete's mom to call him out for swearing, but she just rolled her eyes.  
"Sorry." Patrick blinked. "Wait-"  
Pete laughed. "Seriously, it's okay."  
"Okay." Neither of them moved, staying together on the floor. He wanted to close the gap between them again. Stayed still instead.  
"Our old kitchen floor saw many a breakdown," Pete said with a smile, sighing.  
"You're so dramatic."  
"You know it." Pete nudged him lightly in the side and Patrick couldn't help but laugh. "Anyway, I'm not as dramatic as I used to be." He pushed himself up off the floor and offered Patrick his hand, which he took. Pete pulled him up and they stood face to face, watching each other.  
Maybe Patrick held on for a second longer than he needed to.


End file.
